


The Fall of Saint Michael

by Nancepance



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Addiction, Agony, Angels, Blood and Injury, Brotherly Love, Character Death, Character Study, Creation, Dead child, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fallen Angels, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Rating May Change, Rebellion, Self-Harm, Twincest, Twins, Wrathful God, demiurge, no beta we die like men, nothing graphic, self-actualization
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:46:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 40,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29335518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nancepance/pseuds/Nancepance
Summary: “Ah, but Michael.” She drives home the truth without mercy. “You chose to lay with me, you chose to connect on a level you knew was forbidden.” Every word hits him like a hammer’s blow. “You chose to ignore it, allowed the connection to remain, to drown yourself in sin instead.” He gasps and she laughs in his face. All the pain comes rushing back. His growing corruption, the loneliness, the addiction he still struggles with even today. ‘I didn’t, I didn’t fall.’When angels fall, some fall harder than others. How Michaelisadick gets made.WIP
Relationships: Michael & Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Michael/Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV)
Comments: 75
Kudos: 81





	1. Genesis

**Genesis**

Once upon a time a God and Goddess found each other and got frisky. The result? A bang big enough to form the Universe. From this event children were born. Hundreds of angels, all beautiful and perfect. Then, from their mother's creation and their father's will sprung forth light and darkness. A single soul split in twain by choice and fortune. Twins, identical, fully formed, and the most beautiful of them all. Together they played and they loved each other, tracing paths through clouds of superheated plasma, the essence of their parents. They left streaks, and peals of laughter in their wake. Iridescent black feathers and glowing white ones. Opposites, yet equal in their splendour.  
For a few hours, the two youngsters playfully zipped through the slowly cooling universe until their Father came upon them with Purpose.  
“Samael, Michael”, he spoke onto them and they knew now who they were. They felt their father’s love and looked up at him with admiration in their eyes. With his Grace He touched them, both their light and their dark and said:  
“You are Creation. Together you will fill the universe with Light and Life.” Upon hearing His Words, their dark eyes lit up. One set gold, and one silver. They felt the power of the Demiurge flowing through their veins, making their bodies glow with the Divine light of Creation. God smiled then at his sons and spread His hands towards the vast emptiness.  
“Well go on then, let there be light.”  
And off they went. Chasing, bending, weaving space into matter, into time. Together they hung the stars. Michael weaving nothing into something, Samael cutting and shaping the strands, and imbuing them with his light. They reached for each other, writhing through their Creation with a passion they had not felt before. Two halves of a whole. Always together, never apart.  
  
_~ The universe appeared on the first day with a bang. Just hours into it, it began to cool down allowing atoms to form bonds and thus the elements appeared. 22 days later, the first galaxies formed and 2,5 months from the start, our milky way was formed. It would take another 6 months for our sun and Earth to form. Three more for life to evolve, go extinct and evolve again. And on the last day, God created Man. ~_

_[Lucifer and Michael, twin angels](https://www.deviantart.com/simplynancy/art/Lucifer-and-Michael-871705512) _


	2. Creation without Will

**Creation without Will**

_~ First there was no Desire, nor was there Fear. There was only them. They explored themselves as they explored the universe. Arms and legs, fingers, and toes. Soft alabaster skin, luscious dark curls, and even darker eyes. Feathers that could be as sharp as they were soft. They were free and they loved each other dearly. There was no shame. Nobody to tell them anything but to Create and Create they did. ~_

“Isn’t it beautiful?”

Michael looks at the star they had created together and nods happily.  
“Yeah Sam” He smiles at his brother. “It is.” They had been experimenting with their powers, his Creation against Samael’s Will and while the results were usually spectacular, they had not been able to create anything stable. Until now that is. Michael spreads his wings to circle their star. It feels alive. He pokes at it in wonder. It immediately reacts to the presence of its creator and touches him back with a gusty solar flare. “Haha! It tickles!” Michael exclaims giddily. “Come try Sammy.”, and he runs his hand across the hot surface again.

Sam feels the happiness rolling off his brother in waves, but he was already getting kinda bored with the churning ball of gas they created. He wants to go and make something else! He props his chin on his hand, puffing out an exasperated breath. _‘All work no play, makes Samael a dull boy.’_ He looks at his distracted brother and hatches a devious plan. His dark eyes twinkle in mischief as he decides to sneak up on his brother who was apparently still awestruck by their new star. With feigned innocence, he creeps ever closer to his unsuspecting Twin and then…  
“Tag you’re it!” he shouts while yanking an iridescent black feather from Michael’s wing.

“Hey!” Michael yelps startled by his Twin's unexpected act of violence. With one hand he tries to catch Samael’s wingtip but misses by a feather's breadth. “I will get you for that!” He fully spreads his wings and pushes at the nothing, launching him in his brother’s direction. Laughing, Samael darts off into the black with his incensed brother hot on his heels. He races around the star, ducking and taunting, always making sure to stay just out of his brother’s reach. He has no illusions on what would happen if Michael got his sticky fingers on his luminous white feathers… He shivered and rolled just in time to avoid getting caught.

“You’re not playing fair Sam!” Michael shouts out slightly out of breath trying to close the gap between himself and his devious brother. They were equal after all, though Samael had an unfair head start on his brother. Obviously! Time to do something about that. With a grin, Michael weaves his golden light and casts it at his brother forcing him to duck and bank sharply around it. “Ha! Almost got you there, brother!” But Samael just smirks as catches the loose strands with his left hand. Speeding up he gleefully rolls them up into a tight ball. _'Uh oh…'_ Michael’s eyes widen at the sight. Sensing the danger, he heads straight for the star, hoping the light would hide his form. He catches a flash of white feathers in the corner of his eye and with a muffled curse, he scrambles to get out of the way of the ball of matter Samael hurls in his direction only to see it plunge directly into the heart of their new star.

He freezes, not daring to even breathe and for a second, nothing seems to happen. He almost sighs in relief, turning to tell his brother off but then, with a roar of dazzling light their star erupts into an enormous supernova covering them both from head to toe in stardust. Coughing sparks and dust, Samael turns to his brother to see how he was fairing only to crack up at the shocked look on Michael’s face. A decidedly unmanly giggle bubbles up and he covers his mouth to stifle the sound.

“It exploded…” Slack-jawed, Michael stares at the glittery cloud of dust left in the wake of destruction. He looks at his Twin, eyes wide. Samael snorts and loses the battle to keep his laughter at bay. “It exploded!” Michael exclaims again, still not believing his eyes.  
“Please brother…” Samael is truly in stitches now. “Hahaha Have mercy!”  
Michael crosses his arms and waits for his brother to get a hold of himself.  
“Are you done now?” He snaps.   
“Nooooo!” Sam howls and Michael rolls his eyes.

Ignoring his still laughing brother, Michael carefully moves closer to the heart of destruction. He could still feel the matter they created, the weight of the star and the warping of the gravity well. Tentatively Michael reaches out through space, to gather the strands of Creation in his hands and roll them back into the glowing ball of superheated gas it used to be, but they disintegrate in his hands.

“Oh…” He looks crestfallen. “I broke the strands…” He tries again, but like the first bundle, they tear apart, turning into nothing once more. Samael’s laughter dies down at the sad look on his brother’s face. Something akin to guilt gnaws at his heart. Michael seemed to be genuinely sad their star perished.  
“Mi?” He flies closer to his brother and snatches the last threads before they disappear. “Mi, it’s okay. Here, look.” Sam weaves the strands back into shape with his Will and their star reappears. Not as big and bright as it used to be, but still beautiful. There... Happiness restored! He preens. He is actually feeling quite taken with himself if he does say so.  
Michael frowns at his hands and then at his brother.   
“I don’t understand… Why didn’t it work for me?”, but Samael was no longer looking at him.

“Dad!” Samael launches himself at his father who caught him in his arms. “Did you see the star we made?” God laughs,  
“Yes, well done Samael! It’s very pretty.” Michael silently moves closer to bask in his Father’s approval too only for Sam to drag their father along to inspect their star. Away and out of reach without even a single glance in his direction.

 _‘Oh’_ Feeling dejected, he remembers how awful it felt to have the strands of Creation fall apart in his hands. He didn’t understand. He had been paying attention to his brother for weeks. He knew his Will like he knew his own power. Then why did he fail where Samael succeeded? Dread snakes its way into his soul, weaving itself into his being until he can’t tell where it starts and where it ends. It feels horrible. Is this what Fear feels like? Michael quietly hugs himself, drawing his wings closer to his body. The attention his father bestowed on his Twin, hurt. He chokes on it. The feeling of his heart being squeezed to bits. He rubs his chest in pain. Did he do something wrong? ‘No.’ He shakes his head, Father loves him! He’s sure of it. After all, weren’t they made equal? Sam and Mi, two halves of a whole. He scowls at his dark feathers. Black against black, surely God must have just overlooked him. Yeah, that must have been it. He watches as his father gushes over the star that Samael first destroyed and then made whole again. Michael glowers. It’s not even as big as it was before!

He is jolted from his thoughts by his brother’s arm around his waist.  
“You want me to make _more_ of them…?” Samael asks. Michael frowns at his Twin. He knows that’s not really what Sam wants. His brilliant brother aches to make new things. Have new experiences, live in the moment. Not to mindlessly create the same thing over and over again though he would, should their father Command it. Surely Father knows this. This is how He made them.  
“Yes, my little Lightbringer. Hang the night sky with stars, let them shine with your Light.”  
Samael’s dark eyes widen, flashing a tight smile at nobody in particular.  
“Ah yes Dad, if that… if that is what you Desire.”

Michael feels a crack. It’s barely noticeably. A hairline fracture down to his soul. Why doesn’t Sam run his mouth like usual? He knows his brother never lies. Did his Twin, who loudly complains every time he has to do something even twice, just agree to do just that?  
A feeling of wrongness seeps into him. Like a slow trickly of anxiety settling in his bones and yet, it doesn’t feel like his own. Something changed in his Twin, but he couldn’t lay his finger on what. Michael looks at his brother’s face, so identical to his own but Sam ducks his head, hiding his gaze from his brother. Suddenly there seems to be a distance between them that wasn’t there before. Something feels decidedly unfair about the whole situation, but who is he to question his father’s Word. It must be part of the Divine plan. He nods to himself. Father knows what is best for his children. Right? Michael feels his father’s gaze upon him, and he looks up. Father almost seems… sad. Michael opens his mouth to ask the question burning on his tongue only for his father to cut him off.

“My boy.” God caresses Michael’s face with a soft smile gracing his features. “You cannot have Creation without Will.” he pats Michael’s shoulder and leaves without another word.  
Michael gasps. Surely, he must have heard it wrong. They were made to be equal right? One dark, one light. He swallows and draws in a shaky breath. His father loves him, doesn't he? The fear roiling around in his gut causes his feathers to ruffle in agitation. He shakes his head sharply, trying to dislodge these dark thoughts. Would that make them less than equal? The muscles in his back are knotted and painful and he hitches his shoulders to alleviate some of the discomfort. He feels stiff like he doesn’t fit in his own skin anymore. Michael doesn't dare make eye contact with his brother lest he sees the Fear that is now his fate. He forces his coverts to lie flat. Pretend nothing has changed.

But Samael wraps his arms around him, and Michael desperately latches on to what he knows. He doesn’t like change, but he loves his brother, he really does. That's enough, isn't it? Sam’s Purpose is to Light the skies, their Duty to do whatever Father asks of them. Slowly he relaxes in Sam's familiar grip and returns the hug with equal vigour. He would take care of his brother. They are in this together, aren’t they? His brother’s newfound Desire washes over him, soothing his fears. White wings cover his own, soft hands roam over his body rubbing away the hurt. It feels electric and he sucks in a startled breath. Something changed. For so long, they had touched and loved each other freely, innocently. Exploring their own and each other’s bodies in wonder. Sleeping in each other's arms in a veritable ball of black and white feathers. A Divine cocoon in which only they existed. If felt safe. Him and Sam. But now, Desire was born, and it was new.

“Tell me…” Michael looks into his brother’s dark eyes in shock. A buzzing fills his ears and for the life of him, he cannot look away.  
“What do you desire?”  
“I… I want…” He stutters, working his jaw. His desires are laid bare before his brother, though he cannot find the words to tell him. “I…”  
Samael looks down and the connection breaks. Michael shivers. He feels Sam’s breath on his skin, soft lips brushing his ear. It feels good, safe. His Grace reacts to Samael’s. Pure, loving, excited even and he reaches out hesitantly. The moment his fingertips touch his brother’s warm skin, Samael gasps softly in his hair. He doesn't know where to go from there. Sensing his hesitance, Samael takes control then. Roaming his hands over Michael's body, taking in all his Twin’s reactions in rapture.  
“ _I_ see you,” he whispers. Samael kisses him then. Chaste, with no finesse and Michael, smiles into the kiss.

He doesn’t know if he’s allowed to feel this way, but he isn't sure he dislikes it either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good day to you ladies and gentlefolk.  
> I chose this particular mature theme for a few reasons. One; I’ve never done something like this before and yes, my inner Catholic is shrieking at me to stop (I won’t). Two; There are so many things wrong in the show that I needed to address them. According to Amenadiel all the angels appeared from their parents fully formed. That apparently includes full wedding tackle and all the instincts to use it as demonstrated by both Lucifer and Amenadiel. They have been around since the beginning of time and their parents are absent. They are not human and not bound by the cultural practices of humans. Self-actualization makes them actually BE their gifts rather than having them to use at their own discretion. They don’t believe they have Free Will. This turns toxic more than once for both Lucifer and Amenadiel. Childish love turns to something less innocent and then even toxic.  
> I will not do explicit scenes. Please, do not let this detract from the story itself.  
> I have used the show, comics, scripture and religious legends for this story. I think it’s fun to try and layer them onto the TV show. Plus, I LOVE Michael. He would be my go-to angel for wreaking havoc upon the world. He’s so deliciously bad.
> 
> Starting with the timeline, I decided on using the Cosmic Year Calendar for most of the creation part. After that, the creation of humanity will usher in a new era and the flow of time will change.


	3. The Smell of Singed Feathers

**The Smell of Singed Feathers**

_~ “I'm fine.” His first lie. It hung heavily between them. His brother regarded him with glittering eyes, and he felt Desire pull at his soul. Michael looked away quickly, pulling up his walls. The silence was deafening, and it made his skin crawl.  
_ _“Ok.” Samael sighed resigned. His smile never reached his eyes and Michael swallowed around the lump in his throat.  
_ _After that, the lies became easier to tell. But not easier to believe. ~_

Days turned into weeks, into months and they created as their father commanded. Stars as far as the eye could see and beyond. Like always, Samael found a loophole in their father’s Command. Stars are stars he said, Dad never specified what kind now did he? It rubs Michael’s feathers the wrong way, but Father never complains. So, they created whatever Sam thought they could get away with. Big red giants, tiny white dwarves, and everything in between. This also posed the first real trouble they ran into. Densely clustered groups of stars seemed to draw upon each other, accelerating and colliding causing massive waves of destruction and big black tears into the fabric of the universe.

Michael dives out of the way of yet another massive surge ripping through time and space, and he screams in frustration. The superheated gas once again singed his dark primaries, and it was becoming a real pain in the ass to keep them in a reasonable condition. He scowls at Samael’s pristine white wings. Some people have all the luck in the universe… His chest constricts with that familiar dark feeling again. Jealousy is what Amenadiel called it. But what does he know! Overgrown oaf… Annoyed beyond belief he grabs his left-wing roughly, contorting himself at an almost impossible angle to see how much damage was done to his coverts this time.

“Hmm” Samael frowns at the churning cloud of plasma left by the explosion. “I say, we seem to be running out of space.”  
“Ya think?!” Michael ruffles his feathers angrily. “This is the umpteenth one in as many minutes.”  
“Right…” Samael moves in for a quick kiss and beats his brother’s hands away from the frayed edges of his wings.  
Michael scowls at Sam. “Try to use that brain of yours brother. Creating more stars clearly is not an option.”  
“But they do make me look pretty don’t you think?” Michael rolls his eyes. Samael finally catches on to his brother’s darkening mood. “Aw, don’t be like that Mi.” Sam’s hands trail along his brother’s ribs up to his wings and manage to tease Michael’s damaged feathers back into shape. It never fails to relax him, and he knows his brother likes it too.  
Michael’s shoulders lose some of their tension and he leans into his brother. He just doesn’t seem to have that same creative streak his brother has. Duty he knows, no matter boring as Sam seems to find it.  
“I guess it’s back to the Silver City then?”

Samael shakes his head and Michael can’t help but feel relieved. They do go back regularly to train with the weapons they’ve chosen. Father seems to want them to be ready for anything, even if nobody seemed to know what. That doesn’t mean he looks forward to seeing his brothers and sisters again. Silently he observes the way their stars move, zipping past them at unimaginable speeds. They revolve around a very bright, very densely populated centre, drawing ever closer to it. Much like how the universe seems to revolve around his brother. Michael exhales wearily and closes his eyes. He tries to enjoy Sam’s hands working through his feathers knowing that his brother would pick up on it. Every time they go back to the city, he seems to lose his Twin a little bit more. Love and Desire come to Sam more easily than they do him, he knows. They were made to be equal and yet, as time progresses, he cannot help but notice how the world seems brighter around Samael and how it draws their siblings to him like moths to a flame. But not to him, never to him.

As if sensing his brother’s thoughts, Samael moves in for a longer kiss this time and Michael gives in. When he is with Sam, things don’t seem as daunting. The fear that follows him around kept at bay. He smiles into the kiss and hugs his brother tight before pulling away.  
“So, what do you want to you with all this extra stuff then?” he waves his hand, the golden light of his creation coiling lazily around it.  
“You know, I rightly don’t know.” Samael seems to be as stumped about what to do with it as he is.

“I guess we should ask Father?” Michael considers the coils of matter wrapped around his fingers. His brows furrow in thought. There seems to be some Will left in it and it reacts to him like a living thing. Hmm… Should he? He could learn, couldn’t he? He always has been the smarter of the two, conscientious to a fault. He nods to himself and lets his eyes shine gold. Like he’d seen Samael do billions of times he starts to roll the strands in his hands, trying to form a nice uniform ball of matter. Nothing fancy, just functional. As soon as he lets it go though, it disintegrates into lifeless bits of rock and ice. Throwing the less than satisfying result a dirty look he tries again, the result just as disagreeable as the first. Samael drifts closer to where he keeps working on forming something, anything! He does NOT give up. Something should stick, shouldn’t it? Eventually… With a grimace he tries again, grabbing a bigger chunk of living matter, forcefully shaping it. Just as he is about to release though, Samael wraps his hands around his own keeping his creation trapped. Michael looks up into the glowing silver of his brother’s eyes.

“What?!” he asks angrily.

But Sam shakes his head and looks at their combined hands in concentration. His wings start to shine as brightly as his eyes. Michael’s eyes widen in surprise when he feels the matter in his hands shift and he looks down in awe. What used to be a nice practical blob of stuff, now formed multiple layers. A swirling ball of molten rock with a nice hot core of iron in the centre. With bated breath, they slowly let go of their new creation and it remains stable.

“What is it?” Samael wonders aloud. He pokes the red-hot ball. It’s much smaller than any of their stars and certainly not as bright.  
“How would I know?!” Feeling sore beyond belief he turns from his brother to stare into the distance.  
Samael makes a face at his brother. He hates it when his Twin is in one of his stormy moods. Even Mum had picked up on it in the Silver City. She hardly seemed to be around anymore, but somehow, she always made time for her little Lucifer and by extension his brother.

“Such a dour boy.” She tutted, holding Michael’s face between her hands. He had been in a fight with Amenadiel and quite obviously lost to his bigger, beefier brother. She took in the black eye and split lip and shook her head disappointed in their behaviour. She loved her children and they loved her, but the Goddess was unpredictable at even the best of times and Michael looked ready to run. "Oh, baby.” Michael sucked in a breath and his face crumpled. Mom drew him into a much-needed hug, rubbing his back and running her long fingers through his feathers. They remained like that for some time before she spoke. “Lucif…” Michael stiffened in her arms, but she did not notice. “Michael, darling.” Mom ran her hands through his loose curls now, trying to tame them much like Sam liked to keep his. “Do try to be more like your Twin, hmm?” Samael winced. He knew the advice was well-meant, but that was… Michael recoiled. Another crack ran through his soul and the gap widened a little bit further. Smaller fractures branching out, digging their little claws into his Grace. His natural darkness giving away to something even darker, but she never noticed. She reached out to cup his face again, but Michael pulled himself from her grasp.  
“Yes, mother.” His shoulders hunched as if in pain, he turned on his heel and roughly pushed past his brother.

And he tried, oh he tried. He tried like a fist trying to hold onto a handful of sand, losing it all but a few grains. They loved his brother, his light, he knew. Everywhere he went, praise for Samael, praise the Morningstar! It hurt. They were created equal! Without Creation there would be nothing to Will would there. So, he hid away. Whenever nobody was looking, he tried to emulate his brother’s Will. Creating stars that fizzled out and died just as quickly as they came into existence. Empty, hollow copies of his brother’s creations.

Nobody, not even Sam understood how he ached to be more like his brighter half. He tried to imitate his brother's mannerisms, his voice. He even got Samael to play pranks on his older brother by pretending to be each other! The illusion always shattered as soon as he opened his mouth though. Fear followed him around like a bad smell and he still hadn't learned how to control it. He was the darkness to Samael’s light. They knew each other like no other didn’t they and still… Unlike Sam’s his pranks were always considered to be too harsh. The very reason he got into a fight with Amenadiel in the first place. He hurt his siblings and they in turn never saw past their own hurt to SEE him. And damn Dad if that didn't hurt even more than not living up to his brother in the first place.

“Oh! Look, Michael, it’s dying.” Michael sighs and turns around. He really thought he could prove everyone wrong if he just kept trying. There seemed to be enough of his brother’s residual energy around to convince matter to form to Michael’s will. But of course, it didn’t work. He hates the glossy look in Sam’s eyes. His brother is no stranger to destruction. One might say he even revels in it. But this…  
He clenches his fists. He should have known better than to try. Creation without Will. His father’s first lesson. They were supposed to be the same… He scoffs derisively. Obviously, Father thought that they needed a lesson. Hang the universe with stars he had said. Not play around and make a mess of things. Typical Dad that. All Word of God, and no explanation whatsoever.

The stars around them swish by silently. Brightly lit and beautiful like his brother, the Lightbringer. They had flattened into a massive disk surrounding one of the bigger tears in space. A hole a black as it was deep. Samael holds their dying creation in his hands, using his Will to stoke the fires inside but failing. See, he knew it! Will without Creation was just as useless. Michael moves to reach out to his brother when his eye is drawn to their creation. Every time a star passes them by the little ball of molten rock lights up minutely only to die down once the star moves away again. He narrows his eyes. There it is again! He flies up to his brother and gently takes their creation from him. Sam is talking to him, but he ignores his brother, for now, his thoughts solely on their dying charge. He keeps watching the revolving disk, waiting for the right time to pounce. One star, in particular, catches his eye. It turns blue as it approaches them at high speed. Quickly, Michael moves to intercept it and rolls the ball into its orbit before the star turns red as it moves away from them again. Taking flight, they race to keep up with it.

“Look!” Michael shouts at his brother. Their creation had begun to orbit the star, its gravity pulling at the hot iron core making it glow healthy and hale. Samael laughs and crashes into his brother in glee. He felt pleased. Maybe this wasn't so bad after all. With his brains and his brother’s Will, they could do anything! “Sammy!” He grabs his Twin’s cheeks and kisses him squarely on the mouth. “Let’s make more!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	4. A Change of Pace

**A Change of Pace**

_~ Jealousy can be a wonderful thing. Born from Fear but sparked by Desire it can be as dangerous as it is beautiful. That push you needed to better yourself. To grow and surpass your brighter Twin. It can also be poison. Burning your tongue with its lies. The lies you keep telling your siblings, your parents and mostly yourself. He has changed and so have you. And ain’t that just fine. ~_

It took them another six months to seed the universe with their creations. A richly decorated fabric of stars and worlds, with glittering rings and swarms of brightly sparkling meteorites. They wove huge gas giants in brilliant colours with awe-inspiring storms racing across their surface. Lightning stuck to black feathers, churning up storms even more wicked than before and he laughed. He looked at his brother. Arms wide and eyes alight. They made love then. Surrounded by superheated clouds of helium and hydrogen. The feeling of skin on skin. Their senses amplified by the raging storms around them. Pushing, grabbing, their powers entwining until neither of them knew where Light began, and the Darkness ended.

They fought too. Black and white feathers clashing, shaking the very foundations of the universe. Two powerful beings. Created equally, but opposite. One formed by duty and the other curious and inquisitive. Fear and Desire, both reflecting and feeding each other.  
They made ice giants. Blue tinged methane gas clinging to white feathers creating huge vortices in which they could hide. Lick their wounds. Whisper their insecurities into the roaring silence.

But mostly, they created tiny living planets of molten metal and rock.

Michael and Samael watched over their creations with love. Tweaking their orbits where needed. A flash of radiation here, a gentle nudge there. They noticed how their living planets gathered more and more matter to them. Hydrogen, oxygen, and a multitude of other gases. Transforming them from churning balls of molten magma into bright blue worlds with the faintest wisps of white clouds. The Twins dove and danced through their atmospheres. Their unrestrained power ripping up the soil, pulling massive mountain ranges into existence. The seas boiled and churned, battering down the mountains breaking them apart again.

God finds the Twins bickering over a bright new star with an assortment of worlds surrounding it. He pulls his boys into his arms and ruffles their hair affectionally. Samael sputters indignantly, trying to fix his hair with his fingers. Oh, his brother is so vain... Michael just smiles and basks in the affection their father so rarely expresses. Things between their father and mom had cooled down considerably. Father seemed to be ‘busy’ most of the time their mother was around and the whole Host felt it. They were quite happy to stay away from it all. Creating kept them busy and it was easy to hide in the vast expanse of space or in one of the many pocket dimensions they had created. Though lately, something seemed to be stirring along the edges of Creation. Michael had been the first to notice it. Something Other. A tendril of power reaching out, touching him and their Creation and it did not feel good. He had spoken to Amenadiel about it during their training sessions and as planned, word had gotten to their father.

Sparks flew as the older angel parried his attack, bodily shoving Michael back. They were both panting hard and grinning. The days of atomic wedgies were long gone as Michael grew in strength, easily surpassing his brighter Twin and maybe even Amenadiel too. He taunted his brother and feinted left. He let his Fear trickle out, tricking Amenadiel into believing his ruse. The big oaf fell for it of course and Michael moved in viciously, planning on ending their session right here right now. His eyes widened as soon as he realized his mistake. Amenadiel twisted at the last minute, grabbed his wrist and elbow and threw him overhead. He landed with a crunch; his breath knocked out of him. Michael tried to get up quickly but was met with the tip of his own freaking sword pointed between his eyes! Uncrossing his eyes, he looked up along the blade held by his smug brother. He heard a slow clap coming from the side of the court and he groaned. Michael dropped his head back onto the dusty floor and waved his hand at his older brother.  
“Yeah yeah. I give up!”

“Splendid performance brother!” Samael strutted across the grounds to pick his defeated Twin up from the floor.  
“Well thank you, Sammy,” Amenadiel replied grinning and Michael rolled his eyes. So like his brother to skip his own training, but somehow always be around to watch him get his ass handed to him by Amenadiel. The First-born narrowed his eyes at the Lightbringer. “And when was the last time _you_ were in here?”  
With a flourish, Samael motioned towards his body.  
“You can’t improve on perfection brother.” Flashing his brightest smile at the two and with a whoosh of his wings, he left them in the dust. More like turned and ran. _Ass…_

Michael seriously wondered if he could die from rolling his eyes too much at his brother’s antics and he sighed. Turning to Amenadiel he held out his hand. His brother shook his head wryly. Amenadiel handed back the sword and clapped a hand to Michael’s shoulder before moving off. Probably to find his brother and physically drag him back to the training grounds for a session. While he thought Samael wholly deserved getting beaten to a pulp by Amenadiel, something else had been sitting heavily on his mind. Michael sheathed his weapon and called out to his brother.  
“I wanted to talk to you about something.” Amenadiel turned around, eyebrow raised in question and Michael told him everything he felt when away from the city.

“It’s time to come back to the city.” Their father regards the star with its planets revolving around it before turning to them. Samael looks ready to protest, but Michael cuts him off with a shake of his head. Unlike his brother, _he_ takes his duties seriously.  
“Does this have to do with the presence?” he asks, ignoring his brother’s warning glare. Samael had also felt the disturbance, but where he felt the danger, Sam felt the need to explore. It was a longing in which they differed vastly. Samael crosses his arms, pouting. Michael sticks out his tongue. He had promised Samael not to inform their father. He never promised not to tell anyone else though. He couldn't help it if Sam's own special brand of lying came to bite him in the ass right now.  
“Spoilsport” Sam whispers under his breath under the pretence of a cough.  
“Know-it-all.” Michael hisses between his teeth.  
“Snoozer.”   
Michael whirls on his brother with fire in his eyes and Sam clenches his fist in warning. They are locked in a deadly stare down. Two sets of glittering eyes, both lit up with the light of the Demiurge.  
“Ass!”  
“Twat!”

**“Boys!”**

Their father’s booming voice rips through their rapidly escalating argument. God sighs and rubs his face. “You know I don’t like it when you fight.” They shut their mouths with an audible click of teeth. Properly chastised they stand before their father. One white one black. Identical expressions on their faces, both silently seething. God pinches the bridge of his nose and huffs out a laugh. Only his Twins. Equally stubborn, equally passionate and oh so different. He leaves them to follow him back to the Silver City at their own pace in tense silence.

As soon as they step through the gates they are bowled over by a little black and grey blur.  
“Lu! Mi!”  
“Azrael!” Samael catches his little sister in his arms and twirls her around. They laugh and hug and there are rainbows and sunshine… Michael makes a face.  
“Aw don’t be like that Michael!” She moves in to hug him too but hesitates at the last moment. Michael sighs. He had been working on controlling his Fear, but there still seemed to be some residual aftereffects. Like a sheen of oil on a body of water. Impossible to get rid of. He was darkness and their little sis was bright. She had no Purpose yet, not like the first-born angels. An innocent and still so young. He regards her curiously. She seems to be bubbling with excitement, almost ready to explode. He forces his walls up as high as they can go and spread his arms invitingly. She needs no further prompting and he would rather be damned than admit to his brother that the rainbows and sunshine did feel nice.

“I’m so excited for you Mi.” she squeals as she hops from one foot to the other. Michael cocks his head in question at Samael who shrugs. Who knows what the Grand Plan is? Together they walk through the city. Samael, being dragged by their sister in her enthusiasm to guide them to their destination, is complaining loudly at being angel handled. Michael follows them at a more sedate pace. He still doesn’t like being in the Silver City. He’d much rather be out there with his Twin than being cooped up here. It’s stifling. While he had learned to hide his Gift over time, Samael had lived vicariously through his Desire. Granted, he could not live out some of those aspects with others as he could with him, but... Lost in thought he almost runs into someone.

“Mom?!”

She looks at him, her expression stormy. He knows she's disappointed in him, disappointed by what he does. She believes nobody deserves to love her beloved Lucifer as she does. That what they are is wrong. He looks away. He still doesn't understand how he got saddled with being the defective Twin in her eyes. Father is Grace and Love, his mother the Goddess of all Creation. Surely his character and his Gift could only come from her? They were created equal and yet, she preferred Samael over him. And he tried so hard to be more like his Twin, but he always failed. And she never failed to remind him. She scares him in the same way his siblings are always scared of him. Even sweet Azrael hesitates to touch him. It must run in the family, he scoffs. He watches his mother fawn over his brother and sister. He keenly feels the difference between him and Sam. Creation and Will. He feels jealousy take hold of his heart yet again, but he forcefully pushes it down. Samael tells him that their mother loves them both and he never lies. Mom loves all her children, but he himself isn’t so sure. The moment his father spoke those words he was bound by duty even if he didn’t understand it back then. Duty is calculated, rational. He’s driven by it. Maybe he could be the son his father wants him to be. To become better than his brother. And then _maybe_ Mom would see him too.

Samael picks up on his mood, of course he does, but Michael shrugs it off. He feels bad about the tendril of fear he sends Azrael’s way, he really does, but it does the trick without him having to confront his mother. She suddenly remembers her task and without further ado, they are back on their way. Samael frowns at him. His dark eyes flash a warning, and he knows he will have to answer for using his ‘gift’ on their baby sister. Michael ducks his head and hitches his shoulders. The ache between them is back with a vengeance. The crevice in his Grace grows a bit wider, his soul a little bit darker.

He _really_ doesn't like being here, because here he is always alone.


	5. Defender of Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my version of hot, armoured Michael see my deviantart page. Sadly I don't seem to be able to embed them here. 
> 
> https://www.deviantart.com/simplynancy/art/Michael-in-Gold-871703687

**Defender of Heaven**

_~ The patterns are clear. Beauty can be found if only one is willing to look beyond them, at the shadows they cast, the ripples they cause and the paths they take. Once in motion, they stay in motion and he sees it all. The pattern of light and dark and darker still. But he cannot change them. They will make their choices and the repercussions are for all to bear. ~_

They say time flies when you are having fun. Let it be said that for most of the Host, time had slowed down to an absolute crawl. A mere snail’s pace compared to the millions of years that had gone by every day since the dawn of creation. God was away more than ever, working on a secret project nobody seemed to know about. And their mother prowled the Silver City, sowing discord with her increasingly mercurial moods. Those of the older Host knew to keep their distance. They chose to join the Legions, rallied to Michael’s Command. It was all he ever could have wanted! It was exhausting. Gone were the days of merely existing to Create with his Twin. His days were now filled with paperwork, which he didn’t particularly mind, training the younger angels with that chatterbox Gabriel, Dad help him, and fighting Demon Hordes at the Edge. That’s exactly what he found himself doing right now.

“Where are all these fucking things coming from?!” Michael narrowly escapes getting done in by something with way too many teeth. It probably wouldn’t kill him, but it sure would hurt. He grunts and slams his sword into the creature making it howl in pain. He twists the blade before ripping it out, decapitating the thing with the sharpened edge of his wing. A writhing mass of demons stretches out before him sporting a nauseating array of colours, teeth and mismatched body parts. Something wet and slimy slips down from his hair and he catches it before it can glide down his skin. He gags. _Disgusting!_ He angrily punches the offender in the face with the hilt of his sword. Where’s Uriel when you need him! They need to close the rift and seal it.

“Getting tired already, Mikey?” Gabriel muscles his way up to where Michael just finishes off a demon with at least eight eyes and claws like razors. The other angel gleefully saws through the belly of something that vaguely looks female and Michael watches it trying to keep its guts inside.  
“Don’t call me that!” he snaps at his brother. They are both panting, covered in gore and Michael tries to wipe the blood from his eyes. “Where’s Uriel?” Arrows start raining down on them then. Big and ugly with barbed heads. They do no lasting damage of course, but they do serve as an annoyance. He twists and turns, using his wings to bash both arrows and javelins alike from the sky. Before he can answer Gabriel gets pushed back violently and out of hearing range. Michael deflects a stab from a vicious looking lance aimed straight for his chest. His skill and determination are what keeps him alive more so than any luck on his part. His blade sings when he attacks the demon, neatly cutting its squealing body in half.

Lunge, parry step back and repeat. Skills honed by hours upon hours of training. Without warning, Michael feels his hackles rise. The flow of battle changes and he feels the fear of his siblings mounting. He hears his brother calling. Gabriel is fighting like a fiend. All muscle and grace, the meagre light emitting from the universe making his copper coloured wings stand out like a beacon. But, he doesn’t have that same voice of Command Michael was gifted with. Their siblings scramble backwards, fighting to flee under the onslaught of new demons spilling from the crack. He had thought taking a single Cohort would have been enough to deal with the problem. They were young and needed the experience. Now he could see he miscalculated. His little army of angels is about to be overrun! Michael growls. Well, not on his watch. Michael screams at the horde before sending out a massive wave of Fear to stave off the next attack. _Oh, and if feels so good._ Michael gasps. His pupils dilate and he feels familiar goosebumps appear all over his body. He shakes his head sharply, repressing the urge to do it again. Fear is a negative emotion, he knows. He feels it from his brothers and sisters daily. It shouldn't _feel_ this good. They tell him it's wrong. He knows it is! 

The effect of his Gift on the demons is instantaneous though. Disoriented, the demons start fighting amongst each other as well as against the angels who jump back into the fray. Caught between two perceived enemies, many turn tail and run. Michael tracks their movements, trying to determine the source of their problem.

“Their pattern was not easy to see at the beginning.” Michael jolts and spins on his heel, his sword raised high only to see his little brother standing there. Already on the downstroke, it takes all his expertise to divert the angle of his attack, barely keeping from chopping Uriel’s curly-haired head off.  
“Uriel!” Michael roughly pushes his brother aside before bashing in the head of a surprisingly good-looking demoness. “Pay attention!” But his brother just smirks at him. Michael suppresses the desire to smack that Dad damned grin from Uriel’s smug face. It’s all in the patterns, isn’t it? He’d know it was coming. Better to surprise him later he promises himself. He can’t hide the predatory smirk that has become his signature look and Uriel shivers.

“Do you see it now?” He asks with a promise of violence in his eyes should his little brother continue to stall. Uriel nods. He knows better than to antagonize the archangel further. He had grown close to his black-winged brother when they were younger. Both outcasts. Usually in league with each other to prank their siblings, though Michael was hardly the mastermind behind their antics. And subsequently shared recipients of Amenadiel’s famous beatings. Michael has a mean streak. He knows. He has been on the receiving end of it more than once. Still, he loved his older brother, and he knows Michael loves his siblings too. Even if it’s out of duty. Michael has grown so much, became the defender of heaven, the son their father wishes for all of them to be. But the patterns… The patterns never lie. He knows a breakdown when he sees one and Michael seems to be well on his way.

“Yes, I see it.” Uriel shakes his head, unsure to which pattern he’s referring. He sighs. Maybe all of them.  
Michael narrows his eyes at his brother.  
“Well, get on with it then.” He _knows_ he should be nicer to the younger angel, but he’s feeling hot and tired and frankly beyond caring. His muscles ache from the continued fighting and he never gets enough rest in the Silver City to lose that tightness that’s ever-present in his body nowadays. Between Mom and Dad and all the dividing factions in the city, Samael tends to make himself scarce. He often reflects desires that are at odds with each other and he just doesn't know how to deal with it. Left reeling with his inability to fulfil them all, he runs rather than to try and find a solution to his problem. Michael knows his Twin like no other, he understands. But while Sam’s most often off gallivanting with their father, he is left with Mom and the rest of the viper’s nest to deal with on his own. It really isn’t doing him any favours. He misses his brother, his Light, and his Desire. Without him, there is no-one to help Michael syphon off the fear that coils around his body. He doesn't dare ask his father about it. He just needs to hide it better. Be better... Up in the city, he’s always alone and no amount of polishing up his armour can hide the slowly growing darkness twisting up his body. Nothing he can do to make them see him any different.

Uriel darts out, using his Gift for patterns to envision the paths to take, which demons to avoid and which ones to antagonize causing chaos and carnage in his wake. A path even his predictable brothers could follow. Bobbing and weaving, he gleefully causes destruction throughout the demon army. He was made for this and it feels good! Michael and Gabriel are hot on his heels. One reaching out to close the rift caused by Creation so long ago, the other one to seal it with God’s Word. It closed with a boom big enough to rattle their teeth and the demons howl in panic.

“Give no quarter!” Michael commands and he gleefully re-joins the melee. Michael looks resplendent in his armour. Wings as black as night, glittering black eyes, and the violence wrapping itself around him like a living thing. A vision of Celestial wrath, glowing with the Grace their father had bestowed on all his Children. But still, Uriel frowns at his big brother. The Fear he is and the sheer power he holds. Like a snake it coils around him, squeezing, suffocating everyone around him. Uriel knows. He sees all paths before him. He knows his future and theirs and he vows to do whatever it takes. Whatever it takes.

* * *

‘Finally…’ He feels dead on his feet. After a battle that took way too long and an even longer debriefing with Dad, he was ready to keel over and die in the middle of the street. Just to be difficult. He enters the rooms he shares with Samael. Dark and cool and oh so welcoming. He drops his stuff on the floor, not caring where everything lands. He would clean up later. _'Or not.'_ With a groan, Michael lets himself crumple face-first onto his bed. His black wings slumped on both sides, the edges sagging until they rest onto the floor. He’s not getting up again, _ever_ !  
“Had a good one then brother?”

Michael mumbles something unintelligible into his pillow. It sure doesn’t sound welcoming, but that never stopped Sam before. Samael grins wickedly. “You’ll have to speak up Mi. Believe it or not, I do not speak jackass.” Michael curses and turns his head to glare at his brother.  
“My my! Such language!” Samael tuts at his brother and Michael just rolls his eyes. Determined to get at least some sleep in before his duties call, he pushes his face further into his pillow. Maybe, if he ignores his Twin long enough, he will grow bored and leave him alone. But alas... He had forgotten about his brother being a neat freak. With a dramatic sigh, Samael gets up to store away Michaels’s sword and cuirass. Michael lets his eyes slip closed. He rubs his cheek against his cool pillow and sighs in contentment. Maybe his Twin got the message after all. The next thing he knows, he's violently ripped from near sleep by a crash of metal against stone and what sounds like muffled laughter. He swears Samael is doing it on purpose!

“I hate you.” He mutters darkly, uncaring if his brother is within hearing range or not.  
“Aw come on now Mikey.” And he groans at the nickname. First Gabriel and now Sam too?!  
“Not you too!” With a huff, he pulls his pillow over his head, trying to block out the sound of his brother puttering around in their shared rooms.

Just as he is about to fall asleep again, he feels the mattress dip on both sides of his hips. Warm hands start rubbing at the tense muscles in his back and he can't help but moan in relief. His wings immediately react to his brother, arching up despite him being absolutely beat. He grumbles at his brother, smacking him in the thigh.  
“On or off.” Samael laughs making him smile. He had missed his brother. Finally, he feels Samael’s weight settle down on his legs. His Twin rubs his hands up and down his spine, kneading away at the knotted muscles in his shoulders and he sighs. It feels heavenly, pun definitely intended. It doesn’t take long for Michael to relax into a boneless heap of exhausted flesh and quivering feathers. He has almost drifted off when he feels a soft kiss between his shoulder blades. “Thank you.” He murmurs before finally losing the battle against sleep. His breath deepens with every inhale and his face relaxes.  
“Anything you Desire Mi.” His brother’s voice whispers softly in his ear, but it appears doesn’t hear it.

Samael sits up and get’s off the bed. He gazes tenderly at his sleeping brother before frowning at the door. He would have liked to stay here and take care of Michael’s desires for a bit. His brother is by far the much crabbier half, but rather uncomplicated at what he wants. It was a breath of fresh air compared to the rest of the Host. He considers pretending to have lost track of time, but Dad's already calling him. He sighs and rubs his face wearily.  
“Things are going to get interesting up here real soon Mi, because today, Dad is going to Create Man.”


	6. The Dawn of Man

**The Dawn of Man**

_~ God created many humans, but two were his absolute favourites. He created them from the same clay, infused them with a single breath and called them by name. Man and Woman; Adam and Lilith. He blessed them. “Be fruitful and multiply. Fill the earth and subdue it. Rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air and every creature that crawls upon the earth.” He gave them a garden to play in, safe and warm. They knew no hunger, knew no pain and they loved each other dearly. And thus, began a new era. ~_

He wakes up to an empty room. Samael is gone again. Michael frowns. It’s been like that for a while now. They fight and sleep and then argue some more. He doesn’t like waking up alone though he probably deserved it this time. Sam was gone so often it drove him up the wall. And when he was here, he started to take from Samael more than his brother was willing to give at times. He grounded himself to his Twin. Sam’s Desire the only thing that kept him from drawing onto his Fear. Clawing and pulling, thrusting up inside him until his brother cried out. Forcing him to give, to embrace the darkness Michael so desperately tries to hide. Always too much and never enough. Michael pushes away the memory of his brother’s pale face. The way he didn’t meet his gaze afterwards. He shakes his head minutely. His brother is living Desire, always giving as much as he can and more. He probably liked it too, he always does. That makes it okay, right? They were created equal yet opposite. They complement each other. It’s how they were made! Samael always comes back. He huffs out a sharp breath through his nose. But then why did he feel such shame.

Michael pushes himself up with a sigh, vowing to find a way to make it up to his Twin. He rubs his face and yawns only to jump at the unexpected voice of his mother. With an undignified yelp, he twists and tumbles to the floor in a tangled mass of blankets and wings. It takes a while to extract himself from the mess he finds himself in. His mother always makes him nervous and his fingers shake. He viciously pushes the blankets out of the way and stands before her trying to hide the effect she has on him.  
“Mom!” She frowns disappointedly at his nakedness and he covers himself quickly ears turning red. _She knows…_ He tries to recover some of his dignity, but she doesn’t make it easy. “What are you doing here?” he asks and damn him if his voice didn’t waver a bit.  
“Can’t a mother visit her son?” A voice like honey. A smile. All teeth, and little warmth. She moves closer to him and he stumbles back into the bed. He feels its hard edge it hit the backs of his knees and he drops down heavily. Mom tuts and reaches for his face. Michael flinches, but the slap doesn’t come. Instead, he feels her warm fingers caressing his cheek. He lets out a shuddering breath. He has no idea how to deal with her. Oh, how he wishes Samael were here. She pats his head like he’s a most beloved pet and moves back across the room. She speaks then of his father. Of his pet project. The perfect little humans he has created in His image and Michael feels a chill run through his soul. Father loves them more, surely. They are his first children. He knows his mother is up to something, but for the life of him, he can’t figure it out.

Michael soon finds himself in a world so green it almost hurts his eyes. After his mother left, he quickly dressed to go and see for himself what his father and brother had been up to all this time. He wasn’t prepared for the onslaught of life around him. The colours, the sounds, even the smells are _heavenly._ Compared to this, the Silver City was as boring as fuck! Birds of all colours follow in his wake. Animals big and small dot the landscape. There are forests and seas, mountains, and deserts. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed he follows the easily excitable ball of energy that is Azrael. It doesn’t take long for them to find Samael standing on the edge of an enclosed valley. He watches as their baby sister attaches herself to her big brother like, well, like an octopus! Good thing he just found out what an octopus was. And now, there just was no other word good enough to describe the patented Azrael hug. He lands a few feet from his brother and he watches him interact with their sister. He hitches his shoulders and turns slightly away from his Twin. The tension between his shoulder blades is now back with a vengeance and he rolls his shoulders to try and alleviate it. Michael isn’t exactly sure he is welcome. Not after… But Sam smiles at him and throws his hand out in a grand gesture.

“Welcome brother, to the Garden of Eden.”  
Michael frowns at the naked creatures playing around in the soft grass. These are the humans? He tunes out the excited chatter between his brother and sister. He cocks his head and squints in the bright light of the earth’s sun. They don’t look like much. Where are their wings?

“What do you think Mi?” Samael looks so proud of his achievement he glows. Surrounded by his creation, his beautiful brother, he actually glows! Will doesn’t need Creation… It feels like a physical blow. Struck by the unfairness that has plagued him for as long as he could remember. Michael opens his mouth to answer, but any words get caught in his throat. Why was he not asked to be here together with his Twin? Was this not his right too? To have created this together. A father and his sons. God and the Demiurge. Sam’s always the favourite. A wave of jealousy digs its claws into his chest, and he cannot help but lash out. Samael already has Mom, and now he has Father too? He's livid.  
“He expects us to bow down to them?”  
Samael’s face falls and he closes himself off. Azrael looks up at him sharply. He ducks his head and pushes off. Back to the city and away from his brother and the creation they didn’t make together.

The dark crevice that had formed in his soul so long ago was now wide open again and weeping. It festered like a wound and he could no longer ignore it. He felt it chipping away at his Grace, one small crack at a time. Fed by the discontent felt throughout the Host. It hurt. His body hurt. The relationship between him and his brother soured too. Michael was sent out to the Edge more and more and when he returned Samael was never there. It made him angry beyond belief. He never asked for this! Everywhere he went, the whispers followed him. Younger angels came up to him to complain. Looking for his brother but settling for him instead. Father’s always away they said. Why isn’t Samael around anymore they asked him. _Him!_ But mostly they complained about the humans. And it felt good to finally be wanted. To be asked for an opinion. To be _seen_! Even if he knew they'd much rather have his Twin. He allowed himself to be drawn into their various schemes. A lie here, a whisper there. Factions formed around him, and allegiances were forged between brothers and sisters.

That’s when the fighting began. Mom’s moods would shake the foundations of the city and Michael would be forced to settle things down. With violence if necessary. Torn between duty to his father and the fear of losing the attention of his siblings, he schemed and fought. The Legions still answered to his Command, but he felt his control crack. His once so carefully organized life was filled with upheaval and he had no idea how to fix it. So, he did the only thing he knew. He viciously smacked down on his siblings. Wielding his Fear like a perfect weapon. He once caught Uriel’s sad look and it scared him. What pattern had his little brother seen?

Things finally come to a head. The courtyard is filled with furious siblings. Poised and ready to deliver swift punishment to the opposing side. He glances at his brothers next to him. He knows Gabriel’s stance on the humans mirrors his own. Unworthy creatures they are. They are little more than hairless apes. Gabriel scowls at the angels gathered below, his face hardened and his hand tight around the hilt of his sword. He would swoop down like a raging Harpy should Michael command it. Raphael on the other hand looks pained. Michael slowly reaches out to provide some comfort but thinks better of when he sees his brother flinch away from his touch. He drops his hand and looks down sadly. He’s in way over his head. Surely, _something_ will have to happen now? This should make Father see the havoc his project causes. Right? He closes his eyes and prays. _‘Father, where are you?’_

He isn’t sure what he was expecting, but the raging storm that appeared above the Silver city wasn’t it. Lightning forks across the sky and the winds howl with his Father’s rage, battering his children down with the force of it.  
“Who dares to speak out against my Word?!” Their father’s voice booms from the skies before appearing before them in a blinding halo of light.  
Both angry and terrified cries resound from below as the angels gathered there to point fingers at each other. Father’s eyes fall onto the three archangels. Michael drops to his knees immediately lest he feels his father’s wrath. He feels rather than hears Gabriel’s knees hitting the stone as he too kneels in terror. Raphael remains standing though. His hands are wrapped around his staff like it’s a lifeline. His brother is shaking like a leaf, frozen beyond panic and Michael tries to pull his brother down. A last-ditch attempt to divert their father’s anger. He watches in shock as his father’s eyes softened ever so slightly towards Raphael.

God then looks at Michael with fury in his eyes.  
“Bring me all those who oppose. Split them into three groups, so that I may hear their complaints.”  
“Yes, Father.” He struggles to make his voice heard, barely raising it above a whisper. God nods and disappears, the storm subsiding just as quickly as it had come. The three archangels fly down, move through the crowd of cowed siblings, and pick out those who opposed. Michael spots Azrael in Raphael’s group and he gazes sadly at her. She hasn’t spoken to him since they visited Earth and it hurt to have her side with his brother so thoroughly.

* * *

Michael watches numbly as Gabriel launches into a tirade, backed up loudly by the band of angels gathered behind him. Railing against his father and the humans he loves so dearly. He wants to call out to his brother, to make him stop talking, but he finds himself unable to speak. Fear coils itself around him so tightly he can’t even breathe! His own little band of angels is just as vocal as his brother’s even though Michael doesn't breathe a word. He can’t! His chest expands as he sucks in air, but it’s not enough. Panic seizes him and he prays _'Please…'  
_ “Please, listen to me,” Raphael begs his siblings not to speak a word of complaint to their father. He herds them away from the centre and quiets even the barest whispers. 

“Be silent.” God’s voice doesn’t rise above conversational level, but every angel feels the command in their bones. Mouths snap shut and a deafening silence descends on them.  
“Raphael.” Raphael stands before their father, pale but brave. God smiles gently at him. “My Raphael, ever the healer. You have accepted my Word and you are all forgiven. Leave and return to your duties.” Raphael nods, relieved to escape their father’s wrath.  
“Gabriel.” Gabriel looks at their father with defiance in his eyes. His copper wings are pressed to his back with such tightly controlled anger he practically vibrates with it. “You have never given me any reason to doubt your loyalty. You shall be spared.”

“Michael.” His father looks him dead in the eye and Michael can’t look away. He’s gasping like a fish out of water, his eyes wide in terror. “You are right to fear me. You too shall be spared. Remember this lesson.” Then all they know is pain.

His Father’s Grace whips out and hits the remaining angels full force smiting every single one from existence. The father who loved them and whom they loved in return ripped them apart into matter and light. Michael screams, his head thrown back in agony. The dying fear of his brothers and sisters slam into his body, into his mind. The undoing of Creation not even of his own twisting him, lacerating his skin, and ripping up his Divinity. Liquid fire runs up his spine and he begs his father for mercy.

“Oh, Father!” he cries at the onslaught of suffering. He vaguely hears Gabriel howl in anguish too. “Stop please!” He screams until his throat seizes up. He can’t breathe. _‘I can’t breathe!’_ It tears him apart from the inside out. His vision slowly turns to white and he chokes. _‘Please… Father, Dad... I can’t...’_ He gasps uselessly. Not taking in any air until he mercifully loses consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used several myths for this fic and this particular one comes from Legends of the Jews. It actually pained me to write this. As a Catholic I was raised with the idea of God as a merciful father figure, but I knew older religions had a much different vision of God. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think. Things will definitely go downhill for our favorite angels from this point on.


	7. Bow Down Before the Lord

**Bow Down Before the Lord**

~ _He who spares the rod hates his son, but he who loves him disciplines him diligently._ ~

He wakes up to Raphael carefully bathing his trembling body.  
“Hey.” Raphael waits for him to focus on his face before smiling sadly. Michael opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out but the barest croak. He tries again, forcing his throat to comply but fails. He closes his eyes in misery. Raphael gently lifts his head, and the sensation of cool water hits his lips. He drinks greedily but ends up sputtering when some of it goes down the wrong way. He’s too weak to pull away, but thankfully Raphael helps him sit up, rubbing his back to help him breathe.

“Gabe?” he rasps into his brother’s shoulder. Raphael moves slowly, angling away from Michael to show him the occupant of the other bed. Gabriel… He looks dead if not for the steady shakes that ripple through his body.  
“He will recover.”  
Michael nods tiredly and he closes his eyes. He leans into his brother, unable to keep himself upright anymore.  
“Azr’l?”  
“She’s safe. All of mine were safe.” Before he can open his mouth again Raphael cuts him off. He knows the question coming next and he sadly shakes his head. _‘All gone… They are all gone…’_ He stares at Gabriel until he feels himself being lowered to the bed again. He doesn’t have the will to fight it. He never had Will to begin with. Michael clamps his jaw shut and looks down. Why won’t his hands stop shaking? He flexes them, but they feel as if they aren’t his own. Michael retreats into himself, unable to deal. He’s so out of it, he doesn’t see Samael leaving the infirmary with tears streaming down his face. Michael just keeps staring at his hands numbly until he finally drifts off.

Ripping and tearing, and the screaming, oh Dad the screaming! Michael wakes up with a cry. His throat hurts and his heart feels like it’s trying to rip itself from his chest. _‘Please stop!’_ Open-mouthed he sucks in air in big heaving gasps. He suddenly feels hands on his torso, pushing him down onto the bed and they burn!  
“No!” He shouts. Panicking, he fights, and shrieks. Pushing away his attacker with fists and wings alike. When the hands finally let up, he stumbles from the bed, weak as a new-born foal. He crashes to the floor into a trembling heap. “Saaaam!” he cries out for his brother, his voice hoarse from screaming, but of course there is no answer. Those wretched hands are on him again and he tries to wrestle himself to his feet.  
“Michael!” He knows that voice. “Mi, you are safe. Mike!” His movements slow as recognition sets in.  
“Raph?” Raphael smiles encouragingly at him. Coaxing him out of his panic with care.  
Michael’s dark eyes finally settle on his brother. He’s sporting a fresh cut on his cheek and his hair is mussed. How did that happen? Raphael laughs a bit at that. Had he said that out loud? Ever the healer, Raphael helps him back onto the bed. Michael catches Gabriel intently staring at him and he looks away in shame.  
“I’m sorry.” He offers lamely. Sorry for causing a disturbance, sorry for invoking their Father’s wrath… Gabriel doesn’t respond and Michael flinches. He doesn’t deserve this, does he? He only wanted what was best for the Host. A blatant lie, he knows. But he can’t, he won’t accept anything else.

The next day, he argues with his brother to release him from the infirmary. He can no longer handle Gabriel’s unnatural silence, nor his hardened stares.  
“Let me go, Raphael.” He grounds out between clenched teeth. His hands are squeezing the life out of the mattress, but he’s on his feet at least. He pushes himself to his full height and tries to bully his brother into submission. Raphael just sighs and moves out of his way. Unwilling to fight him on this, or perhaps unwilling to fight at all. Michael immediately regrets his choice though the moment he steps outside. On trembling legs, he shuffles from wall to wall. Hiding in the shadows, like he has done so many times before. His hands struggle to find purchase against the smooth stone of the Silver City, and he has to lean against the wall just to stay upright. Almost home… His black wings drag behind him, their tips catching on the pavement, but he’s too tired to properly furl them.

From the corner of his eye, he catches sight of himself in the gleaming marble. Though looking haggard, his body is whole and as beautiful as always. Nothing in his appearance changed to show how his father had both made and unmade him at the same time. There are no scars to display, nothing to make anyone remember what they went through. What _he_ went through. His face crumples with a sob. There’s nothing there to show how broken he is, except for his eyes. Unable to look at himself any longer he leans his back against the cool wall and slides down. His feathers catch on the marble on the way down. Ruffling out of alignment almost painfully, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He feels the fear running rampant throughout the Host and he drowns in it. Why did his father make him like this? Why create him with darkness inside? Why allowing them to speak and then punish them for it? His eyes fall to the black feathers on his wings. A stark contrast to the white of the city. To the light of his brother. Michael snarls, cutting off the scream threatening to escape his throat. He viciously grabs his primaries and pulls, ripping out handfuls at a time. He ignores the blood dripping onto the pavement. The pain ripping through his wings and back. The broken black feathers scattering to the wind. He deserves this, they deserve this. If they could only see. If _He_ could see…

Warm hands pull his blood-stained fingers from his wings and pull him into a hug.  
“Sam…” he breathes, his name cutting off in an agonized moan. He doesn’t want to see his brother, his Twin, his brighter half and yet he can’t pull away. He hangs on to Samael for dear life and cries. Full body spasms, burning tears and muffled wails. Samael must have flown them home because he suddenly finds himself in the cool, dark surroundings of their rooms. Sam runs his fingers through Michael’s dark feathers, trying to salvage what is left of them and he lets him. He allows himself to be moved, feels his brother’s strong body covering his own. _Safe.._. He cries, tears soaking into the pillow. Too tired to fight, and too numb to care. He lets Samael take care of him in the only way his brother knows how. Trying to ease his pain. Trying to take away the Fear through Desire. His blood stains Samael’s pure white wings. It taints them with shame, more than their love ever had and Michael can no longer meet his brother's eyes. Together they move in the dark, but it’s not the same. It can never be the same again.

When he wakes up, Samael is gone again leaving behind a big white feather. To heal himself with he guesses. Michael twirls the feather in his hands before putting it inside his robes. He dresses properly and straps on his sword. He forcefully straightens his shoulders, fighting the painful twist to his spine that's now a permanent feature of his body. He looks at himself in the polished silver mirror. He is Michael, Defender of Heaven. He looks into his own tired eyes. He will do anything to protect what’s left of them.

He only goes back to Earth because Lilith, Adam’s wife, escaped from the Garden. His father sent him to take her back. With force if needed. Michael doesn’t question it. He doesn’t question much of anything these days. He learned his lesson. So did they all… He finds her easily. Her trail is easy to follow, much too easy actually, but it’s her fear that draws him to her anyway. He can taste it on his tongue. So different from back home. Much _purer_. It excites him. He lands out of sight, unwilling to scare her off right away. While he enjoys a good hunt like most angels, he’s here on his father’s orders. He takes one long look at his ragged wings before deciding to furl them, hiding them from the world. He had continued to pull his own feathers. He couldn’t help it. The pain grounded him when he couldn’t cope. Kept him from lashing out at his Twin. Kept him from crawling back into Sam's bed. He knows it pains Samael, but Michael needs this distance. Another lie.

Michael walks out slowly to meet his father’s human, trying his best to look as innocent as angelically possible. His breath catches in his throat though when he finally lays eyes on the creature. Wide-eyed he lets his gaze rove over her form. Curvy and soft, with olive skin and long dark hair. He swallows thickly and coughs, startling her. With a gasp, she turns around to face him. His eyes lock onto hers, to her full lips, and the swell of her breasts. He coughs again, shifting to hide his growing discomfort.  
“Lilith.” He speaks, his voice barely above a whisper.  
"Samael!”  
She runs at him then, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him soundly. He freezes at the name and Lilith pulls away from him, confused. “Samael, what’s wrong darling.” Michael doesn’t know what to say. He gazes into her eyes, unable to move, unable to think. She starts to pull away from him and his mind slams back into full gear. Samael had lain with this human. His Twin had lain with a _human_! Fear crept up along his spine, but so did desire. They had been so tightly wounding around each other for so long, he could hardly distinguish between them anymore. The flesh is weak. His breath hitches. Her lips are so close. So close… Any protest he might have had flies out of his head when he kisses her.

He lays her down, so close to the Garden he’s sure Adam must have heard their cries. They moved in unison, the same and yet so different from his love for his brother. She knows of course that he isn’t Samael. She knew it the moment he kissed her back. By the slight slope in his right shoulder that even his glamour couldn’t hide. By the way he ground his hips against hers in blatant desire. How he knelt before the altar of her body and let her take his darkness. But she doesn’t breathe a word of it and neither does he.

They talk then about her desires, her wishes, her fears. How she demands to be equal to Adam like how they were created in the first place. Man and Woman created from the same clay and brought to life by the same Divine Grace. Equal yet opposite. Michael is struck by the similarity between this human’s wish for equality and his own mother fighting his father for the same thing. He thinks about how his father created these creatures with the ability to think for themselves only to enforce his own rules on them. Creating a never-ending spiral of tantalizing desire, a thirst for the forbidden and the entrapments of guilt and fear. Free will is a dangerous thing to want, though he can’t fault her for wanting it. The way he wanted it for himself and was punished for it. For thinking himself above his father. He lets her go of course though thoughts of her stay with him all the way to the Silver City. Through the lies he tells his father about his failed mission. Through the suffocating fear he feels every time he’s near Him.

Though Samael never asks, he knew from the moment his brother had stepped foot in the Silver City what Michael had done. Knows that the only thing to fall from his Twins lips would be a lie. A desperate bid to keep any fingers from pointing at himself. Michael felt the stirrings of another uprising. The whispers had started anew, and he was petrified. _'Please, Sam.'_

“Samael”, they whispered. _“Lucifer…”_

 _"Samael led the human into temptation."  
_ Michael went to Earth again, but he never saw Lilith again. God had made Adam a new Wife. A better one! A wife made from his rib, a part of her husband.

 _“Dad, how can you love humans more than your Children?!”  
_ Not equal, but subservient.

 _"I'm the better son, can't you see father. I will do anything you ask."  
_ She would birth children as Adam’s commanded. To lay with him and never to want anything for herself.

 _“Dad, why do you punish us for speaking our minds? Did you not Gift them to us?"  
_ Commanded to never eat the forbidden fruit, to never know freedom as Lilith had.

 _“Lucifer wants to raise his throne above God!”  
_ Michael bent down before Adam, dropping to one knee in servitude, his head bowed in shame

 _“Please brother. Please don't do this to me."  
_ Michael sits in front of his father. On hands and knees and shaking like a leaf. Trapped by his indecision. Between the love for his brother and the fear for his father. By the lies that tumble from his mouth every time he opens it.

 _“We must cast him down!”  
_ Michael gasps. His right arm and shoulder seize up and it takes all of his self-control not to make a sound. His muscles spasm like he has been holding his sword for aeons. Poised to strike down at any moment. He doesn't need to see the pattern. There is no way to stop what's coming now, and he knows it. 

**“So be it.”**

Lilith bends down to pick up the single white feather that had fallen from Michael’s robes. A little worse for wear but still smelling like him. Like both of them. Hell had started to form deep down below. Dark and hot and strangely homey. She smiles and tucks it away next to a small white pebble, the only thing she took from the garden. Without a backwards glance, she turns away from her old life and leaves. His glowing white feather would become the first blade ever to be forged in Hell. His brother’s dark Creation combined with her will would have her birth many, many children. _She_ would give them an army. She owed them that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok explanation time!  
> I used a story from Legends of the Jews for the last chapter. Upon hearing about God creating humans, some of the Host were not as keen as others. God called upon a band of angels led by the archangel Michael to come before him and voice their complaints. He listened to them and smote them out of existence right in front of Michael who was spared this fate. The same happened to a band of angels led by the archangel Gabriel. The last group was led by the archangel Raphael, though he was known by a different name then. Raphael was the only one to beg his angels to not speak a word against God. God Spares him and his band of angels. Making him the angel of healing.  
> Yes, old testament God is not really great father material is he.
> 
> Lilith was created together with Adam as not the only humans, but by far God’s favourites. Lilith refused to lay beneath Adam though, arguing that they were made together and therefore should be his equal. She fled from the garden and lay with the ‘demon’ Samael. She then begot many children who became the Lilim. She’s immortal because she never partook from the forbidden fruit. This was a rule that came with Eve. In the show we are told many times that not everything in the bible is accurate. Yes, maybe she slept with Lucifer and maybe she didn’t. Samael is the name that stuck. Michael could have just as easily spread the rumor it was his brother. He apparently also manipulated Luci into sleeping with Eve and then also Adam. Devil’s threesome anyone? Then again, Lucifer doesn’t seem to need much to stick it to his Dad at this point. Trying to prove Eve isn’t much better than Lilith before her doesn’t seem farfetched.  
> According to scripture, Lucifer was already leading people to sin before his fall. He also argues with God about the best way to design humans. He wants the same free will they have. He doesn’t want to bow down to them (like basically every other angel we see on the show).  
> If you have any questions, feel free to comment! I like getting comments… You could even say I Desire them.


	8. Pride Goeth Before the Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a roll ladies and gents. I cant promise such quick updates after today. It's the last day of my vacation and tomorrow, real life will come a knocking again. I really hope I have caught the desperation of the rebellion in this chapter.
> 
> Please let me know what you think?
> 
> A link to my art  
> https://www.deviantart.com/simplynancy/art/Michael-and-Lucifer-the-Fall-867898158

**Pride Goeth Before the Fall**

_~ Once upon a time, two angels were made equal. Fully formed and beautiful. Alabaster skin, dark hair, and even darker eyes. One black, one white. Together they created the universe. A Divine tapestry of life and light and love. And they loved each other more than anything. ~_

He smelt it more than he felt it. The scent of ozone, the static of an electric charge preceding the shockwave running through the Heavenly Host. Years of battling demons and gods of lesser pantheons had honed his instincts for battle like the fine edge on his sword. He straps himself into his armour quickly and confidently. His black wings offset the silver cuirass, making sure there is no doubt about his nature. A defender of Heaven, the avenging angel, and the Wrath of God. He considers the shield gifted to him by his father. The motto emblazoned upon it serves to remind him of his place. He grabs the straps with a grimace. He would much rather fight without it, but the increased slope of his shoulder and the tightness in his back make it a necessity he’s unwilling to go without. He straps on his sword and runs to answer the tolling bells of the watchtower. And he prays, oh Father he prays that this isn’t what he thinks it is.

He hurries up the stairs and onto the battlements to find out the cause of the commotion only to stop dead in his tracks. It’s his brother. His beautiful Samael is resplendent in his light and righteous in his fury. He had hoped… He had known it was coming. The whispers in the shadows. The furtive looks their siblings cast each other. He sucks in a shocked breath as he quickly counts how many rebels rallied to Sam’s cause. ‘ _No…’_ He stumbles into the fortified wall, clinging to it with a white-knuckled grip. A third! A third of the angels willing to defy their Father’s Will. _‘No, no no!’_ To his left, an angel of the younger Host trumpets his arrival, calling the Legions of Heaven to arms. It takes all his willpower to keep from ripping the fucking thing from the angel’s lips and wadding it up in a gold-coloured ball of junk. It was too late now anyway. The call had been made and he could feel the Legions rally to his Command. He was going to have to fight his own Twin. Oh, Father!

“No!” He gasps breathlessly. He tries to make eye contact with his brother, willing him to step back. To stop this madness. But Samael only grips his spear tighter. His eyes seem darker than the deepest black and hard as adamant. Gabriel lands next to him, his sword already unsheathed. They do not speak to each other. They don’t have to. They both have paid the price of defying their father. And even though Gabriel does not forgive Michael for his manipulations, he also knows his brother is as stuck as he is.

Michael prays then to his father to stop this mess from happening. Around him, he hears the startled gasps of his brothers and sisters. The murmured denials and outright shouts of anger. _Please, Father!’  
_ But as always, these days, his prayers go unheard. No answer is forthcoming, and he is faced with making the hardest decision of his life alone. He reaches out to his brother instead. _‘Please Sam! Don’t do this!’_

He looks at Samael, pleading with him and he finally sees something soften in his brother’s gaze.  
 _Join me then brother.’_ He feels the strain in his brother’s prayer, and he swallows a sob. His right-hand shakes and spasms around the hilt of his sword. His ragged wings are ruffled betraying his inner turmoil to all of the Host. The twisting in his back and shoulder reminding them all of how corrupted he has become. He feels the weight of his duty pressing down on his shoulders. The fear of his father. The fear of losing his brother to his father’s wrath. Of being left alone with the ever-growing darkness inside him. It’s suffocating him and he wavers under the pressure.

“I can’t!” His voice rips across the distance between him and his brother. Unable to hide the agony in his voice. Sam looks sad then and something breaks between them. The final straw that broke the camel’s back. The last string that had bound them together for so long.  
 _‘I know… Then so be it.’  
_ Michael is given no time to recover as Samael lifts his spear to signal the attack. The rebels rush the city.

“For Lucifer!” They cry. “For Lucifer, for free will!”

He knows so many of them! Michael is forced to draw his sword then. It feels heavy in his hand, almost as if responding to its owner’s pain. He lifts his sword, the metal gleaming in Heavenly light and by his command, the Legions of the Heavenly Host burst over the walls like a tidal wave. They slam headfirst into their beloved siblings, drawing blood and screams alike.

Michael desperately searches for his brother in the carnage. He spots him almost immediately, blood coating his white wings and spear. What sends shivers down his spine are Sam’s eyes locked firmly onto him, blatant in his misery. With a shout, he throws himself at his brother. Slashing at him with his sword and sharpened primaries alike. They dance around each other like they had done many times before. Hours and hours of gruelling training by their eldest brother had sharpened their instincts. They knew each other’s weaknesses like no other. Michael barely manages to avoid being run through with the wicked point of Samael’s spear. Being lefthanded and with a longarm, Samael has the advantage, and he doesn’t hesitate to press it. Michael is forced to be on the defensive, his shield becoming more cumbersome than helpful against his brother’s wicked stabs.  
“Cowering behind dear old dad again brother?” Samael taunts him. Michael grits his teeth as he dodges another slash from Samael’s wing. “I mean; Who is like GOD?” Samael smirks at his brother referring to the motto emblazoned on the shield for all to see. “Isn’t that a bit above yourself?”

The barb hits home and his fingers are cramping from holding onto his shield so tightly. Michael feints and pushes through Samael’s defence for a moment only to be driven back again. Being righthanded, he is blocking his own strikes forcing him to stay on the defensive. This is getting nowhere! He narrows his eyes. He only needs to get past the spearhead and then Samael was his. He could force his brother to stop, to stop defying their father. To save the day and be a hero. He throws down his shield opting instead to catch the spear with his left hand. With a roar, he slams himself bodily into his brighter Twin. No longer holding back he bashes the hilt of his sword in his brother’s face knocking him back.

“Why can you never just shut up!” Michael grabs his brother’s hair, and he moves in for another punch to his face, but Samael twists away, catching Michael’s thigh with his razor-sharp primaries.  
“I have always done what has been desired of me Mi and you know it!” Samael shouts and spits out the blood from his broken nose. He pushes his brother away roughly. They regard each other for a moment, both breathing heavily. The memory of their father’s punishment comes to his mind, unbidden. The pain, the suffering of their siblings as they were wiped from existence. It’s almost enough to make him drop his sword.

“Father will punish you, Sam!” He snarls at his Twin, desperately trying to get through to him but Samael sees red. He rushes his brother, stabbing and slashing, using his wings to catastrophic effect. Pushing back his brother without mercy. Michael lifts his wings to defend himself from Sam’s strikes. The celestial weapon tearing up his feathers, ripping into sinew and muscle alike. Michael screams through his teeth. He dodges a strike aimed for his head and thrusts his sword forward with all his might. Michael wraps his arm around Sam’s shoulders, grabbing onto him with bruising strength and time seems to slow to a crawl. He can hear his heartbeat roaring louder than the sounds of battle around them. His own heavy breathing deafening in his ears. Samael gasps and Michael feels warm blood spurt out over his hand. _‘No…!’_

He pulls back slightly making Samael slowly slip down his body and onto his knees. Michael watches in horror as his blood slicked blade slips free. A suffocating silence descends on the battlefield, both sides unsure of what is happening between their leaders. Samael’s face has gone slack in shock. He moves his hand to his side, surprised to see it come back covered in blood. His blood. He looks up at Michael from his position on the ground. On his knees before his brother. A red puddle slowly growing around him. Black eyes meet those of his brother. Two sets, so identical yet so different.

“Don’t you get it Mi…” Samael rasps. His chest expands and he gulps in one breath after another. “Father made me this way.” He spits out another mouthful of blood. “Father made us this way…”  
“Sam.” He reaches for his Twin.  
“Coward!”  
Michael clenches his fists at the accusation. They continue to stare each other down. The Defender and the Rebel. One armed, and one not. He feels the battle unravelling. He knows his brother is right. Their father made them. Their father made them and then punished them for doubting him.

“Please Sam, stop this madness.” Michael pleads with him dropping to his knees before his brother. His wings droop to the ground. Blood dripping from his primaries, mixing with Samael’s blood in the soil. Creation and Will, darkness and light and yet, their blood is the exact same colour. “Please…” Michael looks at his Twin, feeling powerless under Samael’s dark stare. “I don’t want to lose you.” _‘Don’t make me face this alone…’  
_ Sam chuckles at that. Breathless gasps that turn into full-blown hysterical laughter.  
“You already lost me, brother.”

**“Enough!”**

Both twins draw in a shocked breath. _‘Father…’_ Michael looks up to see all Samael’s rebels on their knees, forced by Heaven's legions to face their father’s anger. He’s shocked to see Azrael’s face amongst them. He quickly gets to his feet, bowing down to his father in deference. He can see Amenadiel’s disappointed face behind their father and he ducks his head in shame. His black wings tremble, having lost their sheen when their twin bond was severed. Behind him, he hears Samael implore their Mother to take his side. To help his cause, to fight their father. But she turns from them without a word and leaves.

God looks down at his son in sadness.  
“Samael, my beloved son. You cannot begin to understand the Divine Plan I have for you. Please reconsider your actions.”  
Michael’s muscles shake in fear, but soon blazing hot anger starts to take over. _He_ never got the chance to reconsider. He was left to face the consequences of his actions _alone_. No word from Mother, nothing but silence from Father. And yet his identical brother, who waged war against Heaven was given the chance to redeem himself in their father’s eyes?! Michael feels frozen to the bone. His anger as cold as the fiercest winter and his hand hurts from clenching the hilt of his sword so hard.

With blood-stained teeth, Samael smiles. He fucking flashes that holier than thou smile at their father!  
“Better to rule in Hell for eternity, than to serve in Heaven for another moment.”

God sighs then and turns to Michael. “So be it. Cast him down.”

Michael feels the last bit of self-control snap at the Command. With a scream he throws himself at his brother, pummelling his smug face with his fists. Somewhere along the way, he had thrown away his sword, instead choosing to go at it hands and teeth and sharpened feathers. His brother doesn’t resist. He absorbs every impact with the barest of grunts. It feels awful. It’s wrong! But Michael can’t stop. He can’t stop hurting his brother. He doesn’t notice the tears streaming down his face. He doesn’t notice the skin on his knuckles ripping and bleeding, the bones in his fingers breaking with the force exerted on them. He just keeps going, grabbing, pushing his brother through the barrier that separates the planes of existence with enough force to tumble through right after him. He feels Sam’s hand clamp onto his right-wing, breaking the bones and he screams. The agony races up through his battered and wounded wings. They are falling!

“Father!” He cries, imploring his father to save him. He kicks and fights to get Samael’s to release his wing. He looks down trying to find a way to get himself loose when his eyes catch Sam’s. His brother doesn’t scream. He just looks at him with understanding. Fear grips him as he watches as his brother close his eyes, his lips moving in silent prayer. Michael renews his fight to get away from his brother.

Suddenly his body is grabbed by an unseen force and yanked up violently. He throws his head back in a silent scream. A blinding pain rips up his side as his wing is torn from its socket by the sudden movement. Sam’s hand is ripped from him, tearing out a huge chunk of feathers along the way. And with Sam, went their the last of their connection. He hears his brother scream now in abject agony as his wings catch fire. Michael is pulled through the barrier and roughly dumped on the ground. A shrieking, bleeding ball of blood and feathers. He doesn’t see his brother’s and sister’s being thrown over the edge to join the Adversary. He doesn’t hear father bestow a new Purpose on Azrael. He only knows pain and then, only darkness.


	9. What Goes Down, Must Come Up

**What Goes Down, Must Come Up**

_~ Lucifer wakes up with a start. Visions of fiery doom burn his retinas and he stifles a scream. He is roughly pulled into a sitting position and his eyes are drawn to the red skin on his arms and hands. He’s burnt from head to toe, but strangely, there is no pain. A parting gift from his father no doubt. He flexes his hands experimentally. ‘Huh....’ Lucifer frowns at the woman beside him.  
“Lilith?” His voice sounds rough, fractured like it's been dragged through gravel.  
“I'm Mazikeen, her daughter.” The woman, no, demon looks at him with a curious expression on half her face. Lucifer raises one brow at her, imploring her to continue. She plays with a wicked looking curved knife making it swish in and around her hand.   
“I wish to barter for a favour.” Mazikeen crawls over to wrap her arms around his neck. She nibbles on what's left of his right ear and he shudders. “You know, Quid pro quo. You do something for me and I do something for you?” His dark eyes, the only thing unchanged by his fall, light up in understanding.  
"Yes, I believe I do."_

_And thus the first deal was struck. And a Devil was born. ~_

Centuries, no, millennia went by, but no amount of time could ease the hurt, heal the wounds caused by the rebellion. It took Michael just as long to recover from his injuries. Months he spent insensate on his bed in the infirmary. Unable to move, unable to speak. Only able to shriek and scream in agony at even the slightest movement. He cried, calling out for Sam, for his father even for his mother. He choked on his own screams, tasting the blood from biting his own tongue. He felt himself being restrained then. The whispered reassurances sounding like sinister promises. _'Please!'_

"Please…" he moaned through the pain. Rough hands kept his wings from spasming, kept him from escaping. "Please no…" But his pleas fell on deaf ears. He battled the darkness, fighting to open his eyes. He sobbed in agony, struggling to get away from the hands causing him further misery. To get away from the nightmarish visions that haunted both his sleep and wakefulness. Blood slicked white feathers. His brother's dark eyes, empty and dead. His own body being torn apart between his father and his brother. _'Samael!"  
_ "Easy there, Mikey. Mike!"  
He lost his fight to the demons and they overpowered him easily. Their sharp claws pulled him back under, kicking and screaming. Drowning… _'Is this Hell…'_

He woke up to Gabriel sitting beside his bed looking tired and dishevelled. But when he opened his eyes again, his brother was gone. He would have thought it a delusion if not for the russet feathers stuck between his fingers.  
A procession of brother and sisters came and went by every time he wrestled himself into consciousness. Some held his hand, some cried, some cursed at him or even tried to hurt him, but none of them were Samael. He just closed his eyes and let them. Too tired to care, too much in pain to stay awake. He awoke once at the feeling of Raphael taking care of his body. Cleaning and bandaging his wounds with more care than he deserved. He sobbed then, in his brother's gentle grip too out of it to notice his brother's own tears soaking his hair.

He screamed at Uriel when he found out he couldn't move his right arm. He tried, oh he tried with all his might to make his right arm respond, to do anything! It must have been in the patterns! Why didn't he do anything?! Michael raged and howled. Screamed obscenities in impotent fury. He threw himself at his brother, his left fist flying. Why wasn't he blocking? His punch connected squarely with Uriel's jaw, knocking him back. The impact jarred his wounded body beyond its capacity to deal with it, and with a gasp, he crumpled to the floor. His chest heaved in ragged sobs. Michael tried to feel anything, anything besides the agony in his shoulder and wing. He watched as Uriel got up from the floor, rubbing his jaw. He opened his mouth to apologize, to say anything but Uriel turned on his heel and left. They always left. He sagged against the bed frame forcing his cramped-up fist open with his left hand. What use would father have for a broken angel?

After this, the steady stream of siblings lessened to a mere trickle and eventually came to a stop. The broken bones in his right-wing healed crookedly. Raphael had worked tirelessly to set and stabilize the bones, but they were too shattered to properly realign. It left him looking lopsided and in pain. His primaries never regrew, and the gap caused enough turbulence to bend the wingtip to the point of being almost beyond flight. He wandered around Heaven without purpose. Without Purpose. One half of a whole. Less than one half now. Michael glanced at his sword strapped to his waist. A useless hunk of metal now but still a comforting weight at his side. Commanding the Legions had fallen to Gabriel. Michael's right arm was stiff and painful most of the time, it hurt even more to move. He couldn't lift his hand above his waist. He couldn't even hold a sword! He could not help but feel anger at the damage Samael had wrought with his rebellion. At his father, for allowing it to happen in the first place.

He winces and rubs his chest absently. He hadn't noticed it right away. His suffering had been too great, his pain too overwhelming, but he does now. A sudden flash of his Creation would make him stumble, forcing him to grab onto the nearest surface to keep himself from falling. His healing slowed to a snail’s pace, eventually stopping completely. A steady pull on his Divinity, an almost imperceptible trickle of power, leaking from his body and disappearing into nothing. Raphael surmised it had to do with his injury, with him missing his Twin. It didn’t seem like a big deal, but it was there. Michael was stumped as to the cause. He had tried to investigate but was still too weak to shift through the planes himself, so he let it be for now. He gazes in wonder at all the human souls now occupying the Silver City. Why would his father allow them to live here? Didn't they have their own world to occupy? He met Eve again, the first human soul to ever enter Heaven. She told him about Sam's sexcapade in the Garden in the last bid to show their father the error in his thinking. His beautiful Samael, living Desire. Still fighting for a cause not worth fighting for. She told him how they ate from the forbidden fruit, how they tempted Adam too and how they condemned humanity to a lifetime of suffering and death. Death… He had yet to see Azrael. Her new Purpose kept her busy or, so he's been told. He knows better. She'd escaped punishment once, but she couldn't escape it now. Forever between planes, escorting dead souls. Never being allowed in Heaven, nor in Hell, but somewhere in between. Away from her favourite brother, but also away from him. She probably likes that last part though.

He painfully shuffles back to his rooms. The ones that he keeps in pristine condition despite being the epitome of organized chaos. From the perfectly folded robes in the cupboards to the fine-toothed comb still sitting on the dresser ready to be used. He wavers when his right leg decides to give away a bit and he grits his teeth. Just like Samael likes. He thinks of the spear leaning in the corner gathering dust. The only way he can pretend it didn't happen…

He knew things would never go back to normal when his mother stood before God. The light of Creation so similar to his own in her eyes. Blazing in fury at her Husband. She blatantly tells him about her hate for humanity, her meddling in their affairs, about every last disaster that had befallen them. She speaks of her beloved Lucifer, her little Lightbringer. The son who had fought to gain independence and was struck down for it. Wilfully ignoring the dutiful son who sided with his Father. The one who cast Samael out. Who had not sided with his brighter half but had instead cowered behind his father's command. Who was nothing but a broken burden now. He feels sick at her words. She, who had turned away from Sam's appeal. She, who had stood by and did nothing! Who had left Michael to deal with the fallout. He had no choice but to obey!

He feels the sentiment rumble throughout the Host. A tremble of fear here, a trickle of revulsion there. They are still just as divided as they always have been. Ready to tear each other’s throats out at the merest provocation. He backs away a bit, folding his wings tightly to his back in a feeble attempt to hide. There was no hiding their state though and he knows it. Ragged black feathers, bald patches from where he pulls his own feathers. A shameful display to say the least. He had allowed no-one to groom his wings. Ashamed of how they had lost their lustre. How they were not the wings everyone wanted to see. Black feathers instead of white. But who was he kidding… Nobody had wanted to tough his wretched Grace even before that. Even before the fall, Samael was the only one who could reach through the Fear. The only one who wanted to…

He feels nothing but relief at his father's sentence. The bubonic plague ripping through Europe been the last drop. If she wanted to be with her beloved Lucifer so much, then she could go to Hell. Strangely enough, it was Amenadiel that came up to him, asking if he would like to come down with him. Down to Hell, to drop off their mother. Michael looks at him wide-eyed, struggling to come up with an answer. What did he want from him? The Fist of God asking the broken Sword. What's his angle? The well-known tendrils of Fear wrap themselves around him again, making his feathers stand on end. He has had little dealings with Amenadiel since he'd started patrolling the Edge with Gabriel. And even less so now, though he had been a regular visitor during his recovery according to Raphael. He shakes his head almost imperceptibly. Surely it must be some kind of scheme? He backs away, but Amenadiel wraps one strong arm around his shoulders, effectively trapping him.

"Have faith little brother." He smiles warmly and it makes Michael want to throw up. "I just thought you might like a chance to see your Twin, you know, with your wings and all." He waves vaguely in the direction of Michael's mutilated wing and the archangel hides a grimace. Truly unfettered anxiety ripples through his body at the prospect. The smile on his brother's face and the tight grip on his shoulder though tell him there is no way out. Whatever feel-good scheme Amenadiel has thought up this time, he will have to suffer through it.

Thankfully going down is easier than going up. Michael scowls and looks up at the murky sky. He would definitely need Amenadiel's help to get back up, but at least he kept his dignity on the way down. He lands heavily and stumbles to the side. His left-wing generates too much lift compared to his weaker right, but he'll be damned before taking Raphael up on his advice of clipping it. Amenadiel lands silently next to him, raising his eyebrow in question. Michael grits his teeth and folds his wings, staring his older brother down. Amenadiel knows that particular look on Michael's face and he sighs. He knows his brother this close to going off like a bomb of pent-up rage. He looks towards the gates and then to his charge. Their mother's soul is straining against her chains, fighting to break free. He shakes his head. This is not the place for it, nor is it the time. Amenadiel furls his wings, waiting for Michael to do the same.

Hell doesn't look like any place he's been before. Michael frowns. It's dark and hot with flakes of grey ashes fluttering down like snow, covering the black stone in a thick layer of dust. It's the polar opposite of the Silver City. He had expected something more extravagant from his brother. He wipes one of the black basalt pillars with his finger. Not to mention cleaner.

He's torn from his musings by the appearance of a female demon. She looks beautiful at first glance. Lithe and deadly with long dark hair and olive skin. He recoils instantly at the sight of her half rotten face and turns away in disgust. She snorts derisively before turning to his brother.  
"What do you want Amenadiel?"  
"Would you call Luci, Mazikeen? I have brought Mom."  
Something is niggling at the back of Michael's mind. The feeling of something drawing on his Divinity is stronger now. Michael tunes out the exchange in favour of picking at it like a loose thread, trying to find out where it leads.

"Take her."

Michael is startled from his musings by a familiar voice. Sam! His brother looks just the same as he always has. Dark hair, dark eyes, and alabaster skin. His wings glow almost blindingly against the dark hellscape behind him. He looks healthy and whole. Whole… Black and white. Once identical, created equal, now broken beyond mending. One crooked and corrupted, one unblemished even in this darkest of places.

"Sam…" He whispers, but his brother hears him anyway. Samael looks at him, stares right through his soul and it hurts. He steps forward and Michael's wings unfurl instinctively at the perceived threat. Michael scrambles to back away. Away from his brother's gaze, away from the fear. He can’t think! His heart is racing and he feels like he's drowning. Michael stifles a pained scream and draws his sword. Agony blazes through his shoulder and back at the motion. Samael looks upon him with anger in his eyes.

“Leave!”

It hits him like a punch to the gut. His mind doesn’t register Amenadiel’s voice trying to reason with his brother. He only feels hurt. With a cry he launches himself into the sky, fighting his way through the barrier separating Hell from the earthly plane. His lungs burn from the exertion and his wing struggle to keep him aloft.

In a burst of blinding light, he appears on Earth above Hadrian's Mausoleum. Sword in hand and wings spread like a messenger from God. It takes all not to scream, not to give in to his weakness and fall to his knees. The connection he had with his Twin is gone. He's truly alone now. Only one half and no whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a pleasure to post a new chapter. We are now diving full on into the middle ages.  
> In 590 AD Saint Michael appeared above Hadrian's tomb in Rome. Sword in hand and full of grace. This signified the end of the bubonic plague that had raged through Europe before that time. Since then he became more popular as the angel of healing. 
> 
> Time seems to be relative in Hell. In season one, a second on earth is a year in hell, in season 4, 2 months equals a 1000 years. In the 60 seconds that Lucifer died he was in a hurry. Time flew past then in Hellish terms.  
> I guess that time flies when you are having fun and Lucifer wasn't having a lot of fun. I guess the same idea may apply to Heaven and to a lesser degree to Earth. So, weeks and months and years may FEEL like it to Michael, but they may not be in reality.
> 
> I do hope I'm not making my fav angel too soft. I am aiming for having him be a dick by the time the show comes on. Let me know what you think?


	10. The Devil Within

**The Devil Within**

_~ Immortality sounds like a gift doesn't it? Sadly it doesn't stop the suffering, nor does it make you invulnerable. He never noticed the wince as he entered her roughly. Never noticed the lie in her eyes when she called him Samael. He looked so lost, so alone. So beautiful and so pure in his darkness. In his weakness he allowed her to breathe in his essence. She smiles and steps over the mangled body of another nameless demon. With a spring in her step, she walks away from her death once more. ~_

****

**_‘Saint Michael the Archangel defend us in battle.’  
_ ** Michael gasps and looks around him wildly. The pain in his back and shoulder is almost enough to make him scream.  
“Who’s there!” The world tilts on its axis, making him feel sick to his stomach with the movement.

 **_‘Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil; May God rebuke him.’  
_ ** He hears a gasp and a gurgle, blood drips from his sword _. ‘No no NO!’_ Samael looks at him, eyes dark and dead. No! He throws his sword down, only for it to appear in his hand again.  
“You did this,” Samael tells him without mercy.  
“No!”

 **_‘We humbly pray; And do thou, O Prince of the Heavenly Host, by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan and all evil spirits who wander through the world for the ruin of souls.’  
_ **“No Sam! Sammy, I didn’t…” He gets his breath knocked out of him when his brother slams into him, pushing him through the barrier protecting Heaven. “Sam! Please!” He grabs the first thing in reach to slow his fall. White feathers… “Samael!” The bones in the wing shatter in his grip and pain laces up his spine, greying out his vision. He screams as he falls, fire consuming his bones.

“Aaaahhh!” Michael shoots up from the ground, his chest heaving, and his heart feels like it is trying to escape through his sternum. Thoroughly disoriented he sways from side to side, before listing heavily to the right. His left-hand shoots to the rough wooden wall for support. He follows the rough grain with his fingertips. It helps to reorient himself. He fights to get his breathing under control. In through the nose and out through the mouth. One, two… Three… big breaths… He sags against the wall, his forehead touching the wood gently. _‘It was a dream.’_ He chuckles mirthlessly. _‘All a dream.’_ Except it wasn’t. He knew better than anyone it wasn’t. He shakily slides down to sit on the floor and rubs his eyes. It’s always some variation of the same and he always wakes up fighting the screams that threaten to erupt from his throat. He glances at the dull black feathers clutched tightly in his right hand. Seems he ripped out quite a handful this time. He forces the fist to relax and pries the broken underwing coverts from between his fingers.

The deserted hovel he found last night is cold and filthy, but he had been too tired to care. The cold wouldn’t kill him and though the hunger was truly a pain in the ass, he wouldn’t die from that either. Michael tries to remember what woke him from his nightmare and he catches the last words from a prayer. A human prayer. To _him_ , of all angels. Michael shakes his head to clear it. In all the centuries since he escaped Hell, he never had a prayer directed at him come through so clearly. He had blamed the continued drawing on his Divinity for it at first but later decided they probably just forgot about him. He didn’t have the strength to fly back up and his siblings hadn’t taken any action to retrieve him. He had wandered around Europe aimlessly, moving from town to town before anyone could notice his Otherness. Hiding his wings and his Grace. Tired, hungry, and filthy.

Michael stands up and dusts himself off as well as he could. He shakes the dust from his wings and furls them with difficulty. He would need to visit a bathhouse soon. Michael’s lip curls in disgust. Thank Dad he doesn’t need to shave as the humans do. His body was broken enough already without him cutting up his own face trying to shave with his left. He sighs and straps on his sword. The only sign of his Divine origins visible to the human eye. He looks in the general direction he felt the prayer from and starts walking. It couldn’t hurt to go check it out, would it? If he was honest with himself, it felt nice to be prayed to. Maybe someone still cares enough to remember him.

He comes upon what looks to be the start of a vicious battle. The grounds are swarming with Hungarian mounted archers. He had heard about their raids on the towns and villages nearby but hadn’t thought to interfere. Let the humans kill each other with their damned free will. He scoffs and almost turns away. The prayer comes through again, a plea for help from the archangel, to smite this evil in his father’s name. Michael freezes and swallows hard. It traps him, appealing to a part of him he hasn’t felt in a while. The protector, the warrior. He looks at the army upon the hill. They are hopelessly outnumbered, and the bands of archers know it. He glances down at his sword. Battle he knows. He had been the Legion’s Commander for longer than all human history combined. He watches as the first wave of archers engages in their usual hit and run tactics. Horses galloping at their enemy, foaming at the mouth and as eager as their riders. A flurry of barbed arrows mows down men in the front lines and he can feel the fear emanating from them.

With a nod, he comes to a decision. He unfurls his wings and forces his glamour to hide the crooked tilt to his shoulders. With a mighty flap of his wings, he pushes off to appear above the hilltop, sword in hand and glowing with his Grace. Men drop down in awe at the vision of the archangel appearing in their time of need. Eyes wide in adoration at the Divinity he bestows upon them. Michael hovers above the humans and feels the pull on his Gift. He'd rather Command them, but he knows he can't. Instead, he lets down his walls, to allow their fears to manifest in his body and he is assaulted by the most exquisite feeling. His hair stands on end and shivers run through his body like electricity. He had never felt this way before! His siblings had all been protected from the worst of it by their Grace but humans… Their fear is pure, he cannot hold back his moan of pleasure. Wave upon wave of Fear rolls over the small army and bashes into the enemy forces. The army bolstered by courage rushes the Hungarians. Their fear turned to gleeful violence. Michael’s back arches and his pupils dilate in ecstasy. His eyes are nearly black with hunger and he laughs. A deep sound ringing out over the battlefield. The archers flee before the might of his Grace and the brutality of the men under his power. Their fear runs hot through his veins. There’s no pain, no anger, just pure happiness and craving.

All too soon though, his high evaporates and he feels bereft. The pain and darkness are back and so are his misshapen wings and his stiff arm. He tries to raise the fear again, to get that feeling back, but he can’t! He bares his teeth in frustration, in desperation. He doesn’t understand. He _is_ living Fear. He tries a few more times before fleeing from the carnage wrought by his intervention. A single tear escapes from his eye and he stifles a sob. It had felt so good. He had felt so whole. He would do _anything_ to feel like that again. Anything! 

In the following centuries, Michael flitted from battlefield to battlefield. Chasing that oh so elusive and sadly very temporary high. He discovered that while he had the ability to reflect human fears, he couldn't Create them. No amount of Demiurgic power could make that happen and he became desperate. It took only a few decades for him to take matters into his own hands. He prowled the human courts like a celestial predator. Just the right amount of pressure to incite an assassination or two. A whispered promise of birthright or a lie about legitimacy.

He used every one of Samael’s tactics he remembered to get what he wanted even though he knows Sam _never_ lies. Never to your face anyway. Not like him. Michael did appreciate a well-wrought lie. At least it touched reality in one way or another. Acknowledged it was real unlike Sam's special brand of lying. Living life on half-truths until someone got trampled in the process? He twists and rolls his shoulders to get the tension out. It didn't matter anyway. Sam was now ruling a kingdom, he was left broken in the dust. Michael, God's dutiful son. He fought to ignore the yawning, weeping Twin shaped hole left behind in his soul. He knew his brother like no other. He both feared and hoped that Sam would somehow see the chaos he wrought. Make him acknowledge his lie.

Thrones were left empty as humans fought over women, money, power, religion… His darkness spread through them. Fear fed by his machinations spread horror and strife like wildfire. Human wars that cost so many lives. Both in battle and so many more after. Michael caught sight of Azrael more than once as she worked to collect all the dead souls. He reached out to her, but she always turned away. It hurt… She doesn’t understand. None of them does.

They asked for it didn’t they? The humans… They pray to him. _To him!_ He’s Michael, ‘Who is like GOD’. He bowed down to Adam. Swallowed his pride and bowed down to humans as his father wished. Fought his own Twin to protect them. Cast him out of Heaven and got injured in the process. They believe his Father is just, but he knows it for the bald-faced lie it is. Humans are as creative in their destruction as they are destructive in their creation. Not unlike the God who made them in _His_ image. Free will… There was no unworthier cause. Sam was an idiot.

Hiding his disability had become more difficult over the years. I took more effort every time he had to, and he eventually was forced to go without most of the time. The sensation of his Divinity being syphoned off stayed with him through it all. Like a tiny heartbeat, much faster than his own. It made him feel less alone. Sometimes it would disappear, and he would feel panic wrap itself around his soul. He would pray then. _‘Please come back, don’t leave me!’_ He would bury himself into violence into fear. Anything to silence the Silence. And when it reappeared, he would be so happy he could cry. He had noticed the bruises appearing on his skin. A mottled array of colours ranging from dark blue to faded brown. He knew something was terribly wrong, but he couldn’t make himself stop.

He blinked himself awake. He was just so tired most days. It was like his darkness had been slowly swallowing every last bit of light he had left. After every high came the inevitable down. Days where he couldn’t find it in himself to move, to take care of himself in any way. His feathers had lost their iridescence without his brother’s glow. They looked flat and ragged. A dusty coal-black, matted and filthy. The prayers to Saint Michael had been coming less and less and that high he had been chasing for so long became more difficult to obtain. Alcohol did nothing for him, oh Father he had tried. He tried it all, but nothing stuck. He felt it then, a trickle of prayer, a chance to get high. He forced himself to his feet and soon found himself in the middle of one of the biggest battles he had encountered so far. He laughs breathlessly, letting the fear enter him. Feel it caress his skin as he plays the threads of fear like a big black spider in its web. He throws his head back and splays his wings wide. It’s glorious! Breath-taking…

She pushes, breathlessly. Her hair is stuck against her forehead, but she feels no pain. She was made before Eve after all. Another contraction rips through her belly. Eve’s curse does not affect her. A shame really… Another push. She yanks the power into her body and with a cry a new demon is born. Lilith smiles at it. The child is both beautiful and rotten. Another soldier for Hell’s armies.

His eyes flash gold for the barest of seconds and Michael’s concentration shatters. A tendril of confusion enters his brain. His heart stutters and he tries to suck in a strangled breath. The expert control he had on the human’s Fear snaps like fine silk threads. They immediately turn onto each other like rabid dogs. Tearing each other apart with a viciousness only known to humans. He hears wings before he sees them. Big and russet and aimed straight for him.

**“In the name of the Lord, cease!”**

Gabriel’s voice carries over the battlefield, filling the air with sound. Michael scrambles to get out of the way, but there’s no escaping the other archangel. A swift punch to the chest has him suck in the breath he so desperately needs. He is thrown back violently and he hits the ground a few times, before skidding to a stop.  
“Gabe!” Glancing up wide-eyed, he chokes on his own voice. Coughing and sputtering until he calms down enough to think.

“Devil.” He hears the human’s shouting at the sight of his brother standing over him like an avenging angel. “Satan!” Michael shakes his head in denial, still panting heavily. Can’t they see? Gabriel is an angel, his beautiful brother. He can’t be the Devil!  
“Look at his wings!” The voices are getting louder and Michael winces. He pulls his sad excuse for wings around himself, the right one never moving as readily as the left one does. “Disgusting!” It finally clicks. They are talking about him. About _him_!

Gabriel ignores the humans and looks at Michael in surprise.  
“You are bleeding.”  
Michael jolts from his thoughts at the feeling of something warm dripping his lips and chin. He lifts his hand to his face in wonder only to have it come away bloody.  
“I…” He doesn’t know what to do. This has never happened before. He is feeling weaker than he had in a while.

“You have fallen.” Gabriel looks as stricken as Michael feels.  
“What? I… no!” _‘No!’  
_ They are torn out of their mutual shock by arrows thumping into the ground dangerously close to Michael’s prone body. Gabriel picks his brother up roughly and they disappear in a whirl of copper-coloured feathers.

“I haven't...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can someone please come and save him from me?!
> 
> In 955 the battle of Lechfeld was fought and won by the underdog. The towns were continuously raided by bands of Hungarian soldiers and most notably mounted archers. They were known for hit and run tactics. They would ride at the opposing army, loose a few arrows with their powerful composite bows and quickly retreat before the enemy could retaliate. This was an incredibly demoralizing way of warfare and got archers a bad name. Including longbow archers. Fighting mano a mano was considered Christian and honourable. Shooting a knight from his horse at 200 yards not so much. The Pope even forbade the use of ranged weapons at some point. The Lechfeld general invoked Saint Michael and lo and behold, he appeared to help them. This got him his patronage as a protector of soldiers and canonized as a Saint. Michael became immensely popular after that. Especially in Germany.


	11. Every Cloud Has a Silver Lining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely reviews! I'm looking forward to them every time I open my mailbox. They are a great help for my writing process.

**Every Cloud Has a Silver Lining**

_~ “Please don’t tell Sam,” he mumbles, exhausted.  
But of course, the Devil already knew. Tome after ancient tome from his private library is slammed roughly onto the desk in his brother’s penthouse. Gilt illuminations on precious vellum tearing and creasing, bearing the brunt of Lucifer’s anger. Illustrations of the devil, of their face, _ **_his_ ** _face. Written proof of the destruction his actions had wrought throughout the ages. Michael looks away, his hidden wings twitching to get out, to flee from the truth. His lies finally caught up to him and there was nowhere left to run. ~_

Lucifer steps through the door with a satisfied smirk on his handsome face. Sunlight filters through the oak tree standing just beyond the gate and he takes a deep breath. No ashes burn his tongue and there’s no screaming in the distance. You could almost call it heavenly. He blows a kiss at one of the friars and walks across the courtyard with a spring in his step. Ah, men of the cloth. So full of themselves, delightfully easy to seduce. He spots the pale face of a middle-aged woman, peering out from around the corner. She works close to the monastery. Came here after her husband died or so he had been told. 

“Ermine darling!” he calls out to her jovially. “Did you enjoy last night’s show then?” She may pretend she hadn’t seen them, but he knows desire and all humans are the same. Lucifer’s grin turns downright devilish.  
She crosses himself. “Satan begone…” she murmurs and looks away quickly. He quirks an eyebrow at the woman cowering in front of him.  
“In the flesh so to speak…” Lucifer’s smile is tight. All teeth and little joy. “But how would you know that, hmm?” His dark eyes glitter as he steps closer to her.  
Ermine squeaks and tries to hide her eyes. “I have seen your face, demon!” Lucifer is taken aback at that statement. The last time he came up top, she probably wasn’t even born yet. Lucifer frowns, he catches a glimpse of himself in the warped glass of a tiny window. No red… huh… He briefly considers finding out where she might have seen him before but… 'Oh well' there are so many deals to be had, so many humans to entice, and so little time to enjoy it all before Amenadiel finds out he’s not where he is supposed to be. Lucifer adjusts the cuffs of his brocade sleeves and runs a hand through his carefully styled hair. He greets her politely and leaves her to run to her confessor. Lovely chap. Later… He will find out later.

* * *

Michael wanders around the rocky knoll, trying to find a way down that doesn’t involve getting doused by salty waves or slipping on equally salty moss. Normally he would try to catch a thermal, but his wings just won’t cooperate today. Just his luck. Besides, he got a thorough telling off from Gabriel for exposing humanity to his Divinity. Europe is in enough unrest as it is. The Templar Order had been dissolved, a game of thrones ran amok through the royal families and Rome was flexing its considerable muscles in earnest.

Things were getting dire on the mainland, and he wasn't to muck it up further. Gabriel's words, not his. Michael doesn't particularly care, but he is also in no condition to fight his brother and he knows it. Michael slides down the mossy rock face and slams his shin against a particularly nasty boulder. He sucks in a breath through clenched teeth. Stupid Gabe for leaving him high and dry like this! The first drop of rain hits him right on the nose and he curses his idiot brother to high heaven. Not so dry after all then.   
“Throw a thunderstorm in too, why don’t you.” He shouts up at the sky.   
His only answer is the wind picking up, ruffling his hair and clothes. The rock face is battered with icy rain and there is nowhere to hide from it. The cold stings his exposed skin like needles and Michael wraps his arms around his body in an attempt to stay warm. At least Gabriel didn’t take his sword, he would be able to protect himself should he need to. He pulls his clothes around himself tightly, but they are useless now. The rain had soaked them through in no time at all. Shivering, he instead unfurls his wings drawing them around and over his head, puffing up his feathers in an attempt to insulate himself against the weather. They had lost their waterproofing ages ago, but they will at least provide him with a bit of warmth. 

He’s still reeling from what happened on the battlefield. The unexpected surge of his Creation and the loss of his control over Fear. It left him feeling anxious. He had felt it before yes, but definitely not as strong as he had felt it now. Earth seemed to have a detrimental effect on his ability to regulate his Grace and he barely recovered from these episodes anymore. It was like a disease. A slow and deliberate loss of Divinity. Like a cancer growing. Creeping up unnoticed, until it was too late. Things seemed to get worse over time, but he had been too exhausted to care, too busy to get high. Michael’s teeth chatter and he shakes his wings, trying to generate a bit of heat. Heavy sheets of rain are lashing down now, and he shivers abjectly.

Gabriel had seemed shocked by the state of his body. Bruises covered every part of his skin and the bloody nose didn’t seem to stop on its own. He had shouted at his brother to leave him be. Leave him to his misery as everyone else seemed to be doing. But Gabriel didn’t go. He just watched him with those damned bright eyes that seemed to burn him to his soul. He had raged, tried to scare his brother off, tried to hide his growing weakness but eventually he had collapsed. Michael had no choice left then but to let his brother hold him through the inevitable withdrawal that came after each high. Michael shudders, ashamed of his disgusting display of vulnerability. Gone was the Defender of Heaven. He was barely half an angel now… Gabriel had just looked at him sadly. His brother held him tightly when the shakes became too much, his fingers adding to the collection of bruises Michael already had. Tried to groom his wings into something he remembered from before. Holding onto the illusion that it would all work out if they tried hard enough.

Gabriel seemed to be an angel of few words these days. They had fought together at the Edge. They had fought together during the rebellion. And Dad only knows what had happened to him at Sodom and Gomorrah. Gabriel had spent days sitting next to his bed in a daze afterwards. Waiting for him to wake up. To provide something, anything, only to have to hold him down when the nightmares became too much. When he tore open his wounds setting back his healing further and further. Michael doesn't understand why his brother would come to him in the first place. He hadn’t been able to provide comfort to his siblings for longer than he could remember. And after that day, when Father took to punishing his children for speaking out against humanity... Things weren't the same after that. Gabriel had seemed unable to tolerate his presence. Their only interaction through the chain of command. The memories of that day had been seared into their minds. A living nightmare exacerbated by even the merest glimpse of black or russet wings.

He had woken up to his brother’s chin pressed to the top of his head, wrapped up in warm wings and even warmer arms. Time seemed to flow differently around them. Had it been hours? Months? Years since Gabriel picked him up and rushed him away?  
“Please tell me you haven’t fallen?” Gabriel’s voice was rough but quiet. Almost if saying it too loud would make it true.   
“No... No I, no!” A lie? Michael didn’t know. _This_ was how his father had made him, wasn’t it? Angels had Purpose, they did not Will. Father must know about how he had been using his Gift and yet did not speak about it. That makes it all right, doesn’t it? Another brick in the wall.   
Gabriel huffs out the breath he was holding, a soft curse ruffling through Michael’s hair.

“You have to stop doing this, Mike. This isn’t you.”   
Michael laughs derisively. “This has always been me, brother. I am Fear. You know this.” _‘I know this…’_ His brother had left him to his own devices then. Perhaps he finally had enough of the wrongness in his character. The all-encompassing darkness in his soul. Michael groans in misery. He could have at least set them down somewhere with a bit more cover. Gabriel was a great fighter, but not much of a planner. That task had always fallen to himself and Uriel. He presses himself to the cold rock and curls his dark wings around him tighter to keep out the howling wind. He wonders if Hell is lovely this time of year.

Michael is in a foul mood. He had spent most of the night huddled beneath his wings. Trying to sleep despite the raging wind and icy cold rain seeping through his feathers. He curses his way further down the slope. If he _ever_ gets his hands on Gabriel, he will pluck every single one of his feathers and make a pillow out of them! Furling his sodden wings brought a new kind of pain too. An itch beneath his skin he couldn’t scratch. Michael looks even more lopsided than usual and it shows in his gait too. The right arm hangs down uselessly and the eternal ache in his shoulder had turned to fiery pain. He grits his teeth and reaches for his shoulder with his left hand. Michael tries to massage the worst of the cramps away, but it’s no use. The muscles have seized up in the cold and he finds it impossible to get any of the knots out. He shouts another foul curse at the skies and is startled by a shocked gasp. 

Michael whips around to face the intruder and nearly loses his balance in the process. In front of him he finds a young woman. Her blue kirtle is soaked through at the bottom and she clamps the handle of a handbasket between carefully wrapped fingers. She greets him cautiously, but he can’t understand a word she says. Where in Dad's name did Gabriel take them? Michael is left unsure of how to handle the situation, so he remains quiet. She tries again in that strange melodic language and he shakes his head, shrugging his left shoulder. Humans in general bore him. He takes what he needs and leaves. His eyes widen as she moves closer to him and he fights the sudden urge to back away from her. No human ever approaches him willingly. They are even more sensitive to the fear that clings to him, than his siblings back home.

She smiles reassuringly and waves her hand at his soggy clothing.  
“I can't understand a word you're saying.” He says with suspicion in his voice. The woman cocks her head at him and comes to a decision. She unclasps her woollen cloak and waits for him to take it. A trickle of fear tickles his senses peaking his curiosity. She _is_ afraid, but still wants to help? Slowly as to not startle her he reaches out with his left hand to take the cloak from her. His cold fingers brush against her warm hand and she jolts in shock. A nervous giggle escapes her, and he finds himself smiling in return. So she isn't afraid of _him_ but of his reaction to her offer? He quickly covers himself, thankful for that little bit of heat still retained in the wool.

With a groan he sits down on the nearest rock and burrows himself further into the cloak. Her eyes take in his features. From his wet hair and handsome face to his sloped shoulders and stiff arm. She sits down in front of him and tries to grab his attention.  
She points at herself enunciating herself clearly: “Brigid.” She points at him in question. He shrugs, not seeing the danger in telling her his name. It is God given after all.  
“Michael.”   
She flashes the brightest smile possible at his answer. Brigid gestures to his sword animatedly, folding her hands in prayer and mimics a halo around his head. Michael huffs a laugh and shakes his head in mirth. “Yeah, I guess that would be me.”

Michael looks at her knowing that she didn’t understand a single word he said. Her face is tanned from working outside and blue eyes glimmer in the morning light. Strands of dark wispy hair have escaped from her white linen cap to dance in the wind. She talks and talks, gesturing wildly and he still doesn’t understand what she is saying. It doesn't sound like any of the languages he encountered before. Despite the night he’s had he finds her enthusiasm does wonders to soothe his nerves. Such a bright soul. Would it hurt to stay? Just for a little while? The renewed twinge in his hidden wings reminds him of his nature and he frowns. Michael looks down at his broken body, feeling his darkness react to her light. Humans are so fragile, and he is sharp like broken glass. All rough angles and jagged edges.

She boldly touches his jaw, turning his face to look at her. It catches him by surprise. In all his time on earth, no-one had ever dared to touch him unasked. His mouth settles in a firm line and he uses his Gift to find out her angle. Michael bites back a startled gasp. It's like she _knows_. Impossible! He feels caught in her gaze as she searches his soul. Unable to look away, unable to even breathe. With a nod she stands up and turns to leave. _‘Oh…’_ He exhales shakily. He fingers the warm wool of the cloak. He should really give this back now that she has seen what he was made of. He opens his mouth to call out after her only to see her waiting by the side of the trail. She beckons him to follow. Michael raises his eyebrow and struggles to his feet.

This may get interesting after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ermine de Reims was an unlearned woman who had vivid visions for the last 10 months of her life. She saw demons, people doing carnal things, animals etc. But she also saw saints, angels and even the Holy Virgin. She died in 1396 after her confessor wrote down every vision in vivid detail. I'm imagining Lucifer filling his library with all these kinds of accounts. Not only because he is narcissistic, but maybe also because he gets a bad rep for things he didn't do.
> 
> The Knights Templar Order was dissolved (by massacre and fake news) in 1307. This in a way caused the 100 years war 30 years later when the French throne was left without an heir. The church clamped down on everyone having a different opinion and at the same time it was rent in several different factions.
> 
> As always, time is relative. We don't know how angels experience time. I'm just going with the flow.


	12. Hell Hath no Fury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all. This chapter is a bit of a talkie. I hope you don't think it's becoming boring. I am writing and posting right away, so that leaves me to edit after the fact. I tend to plug and go, so if there are any plot holes left, if you find anything that doesn't make sense please let me know.

**Hell Hath no Fury**

_~ “He has fallen?”_   
_He has lain with a human!”_   
_“No, I don’t believe it.”_   
_“You haven’t seen him, Raph!” Gabriel’s bright eyes glitter and his feathers quiver in agitation. “You haven’t seen him and now he’s fathered a Nephilim.”_   
_The two bickering angels don’t seem to notice a shadow slipping away quietly. Uriel glances in her direction with the slightest nod. Things are stirring that shouldn’t be. The patterns do not lie. Even if he had to destroy his own brother, he would do anything to keep war from the gates. ~_

The Goddess smiles at her new tormentor. It seems Mazikeen had better things to do today than throw her frustration at the Mother of Angels. This one seemed young. Unexperienced and surprisingly talkative. He had been babbling on an off while setting up his tools, taking care to check every single one for nicks or other imperfections. Nothing but the best for her it seems. Demons are surprisingly wholesome in their own way. She huffs in annoyance. Her beloved Lightbringer still hadn’t bothered to check on her. She frowns, that won’t do if they ever are to regain their rightful place up in the Silver City.

“Goddess.” She is drawn from her thoughts by the shape of the First Wife leaning against the far wall.  
“Human…” She cannot keep the disdain from her voice at the sight of the first sinner. The one that had led her precious Samael down the path of his own destruction.

Lilith flashes a feral grin and slowly moves closer. “How do you like my son?” She ruffles the demon’s hair affectionally, not heeding the violent flinch from the boy. “He’s a good boy. He would do anything for his mother, wouldn’t you?” She reaches into her bodice to draw something out. The Goddess looks away, bored. She isn’t a corporeal being. Nothing could harm her. Torture lost its lustre after the first few times. What could the human possibly do to her? “Nothing like his father at all.” The Goddess’ eyes widen as Lilith pulls out a big black feather.  
“Where did you get that?”  
Lilith smirks and slides the feather over her body lustfully. Rubbing it over her nipples, down her sides, between her legs.   
“Oh, you know… A garden, an angel, a connection that should never have been made.” The feather flashes gold for a second and Lilith lovingly looks down at her belly. A new life forming, a new demon created.  
“Nephilim?” 

Lilith laughs, the sound bouncing off the walls of the cell.  
“Not quite I’m afraid. My beautiful children have no soul, just how I like it. You know, Creation without Will and all. That’s what he told me anyway.”  
“You never slept with Lucifer, did you?”  
“Not back then no.” Lilith guffaws at the look of revulsion flashing across the Goddess’ face. “Don’t look so disgusted! I’m a woman, he has all the bits. Where did you think he got his experience from?” She looks away dreamily. “After all, we need to keep the Lucifer brand pure, don’t we?”  
The Goddess is incensed! Her Samael, her beautiful Lightbringer had been innocent!  
“Why are you telling me this?”

Lilith turns to her son and gestures towards the door. “The priest has finally died, time to get a move on.” The demon nods and hurries out. A good old fashioned demon possession. He rubs his hands in glee. This is going to be so much fun!  
The first woman turns to the Goddess once more. “I have some information that you may like to hear.” She looks at the bound Goddess smugly. “It seems that Lucifer’s beloved Twin has been busy on Earth.” Lilith had felt it the moment his seed and Creation had taken hold in the human woman. “A Nephilim will be born, and she might be the answer we are looking for.”  
The Goddess narrows her eyes at the Mother of Demons. “Which is?”  
“An army of angels, born from her Grace with the Will of humanity and Creation. We will put Lucifer where he belongs. I owe it to him.”  
Lilith sweeps out of the room, but not before carelessly dropping the black feather to the ashy ground and crushing it under her feet. “Did you know he plucks his own feathers?” She giggles and slams the door on the way out. The Goddess smiles then. A granddaughter to teach everything she knows. A way to get back at her husband and free her son.

* * *

Almost a year had gone past since he met Brigid at the cliffs. Learning her language had proven more difficult than he had anticipated, but he could make himself be understood with what little vocabulary he had picked up as well as a colourful array of gestures. It never failed to make her laugh and dare he say it? Life felt good. He had regained a bit of mobility in his right arm and unfurling his wings was a lot less painful now than it had been before. He follows her around, helping where he can, and he even started to take her to church on Sundays. Michael wrinkles his nose in disgust. He would never understand the human need to build these houses for his father. The stone arches reaching for the heavens. The stained glass showing a variety of angels and biblical scenes. Frescoes with most of their faces rubbed off. Do they know, his father doesn’t care anymore?

He had found peace in a much smaller house. With a woman who was just as lonely as he was. Michael knows it isn’t going to last. She is human and he is not. He doesn’t love as easily as his brother. Samael’s love is passion, quick to ignite and impossible to refuse. He loves quietly. From the edges, trying to enjoy whatever scraps are handed to him. Brigid smiles at him from under the hood of her cloak. It’s cold and rainy when they make their way back from the market square. She waddles a bit from side to side and Michael suppresses a laugh at the sight, shying away from her angry glare. He had found out quickly not to antagonize hormonal pregnant women. Dad damn him, she can be scary! He suddenly understood the fear of the Roman Legions when they encountered these Celtic tribes. Fiery characters and without fear. They reminded him of Gabriel in a way.

He had tried to find out why she didn’t fear him when they met. Why she didn’t react like all the other humans and his siblings alike. He still hasn’t found the answer. He had noticed the strange looks thrown their way. How they flitted from her wrapped hands to her face and to him. How they were both respectful to her and gave her a wide berth. How some asked her to pray for them, for some strange reason. He has had to pull her hands from the hot cauldron more times than he can count but strangely the pain doesn't bother her. 

She had confided in him during the long winter nights. Long talks of which he understood very little. And he did the same. Talking to her about Heaven, about his family, about his nightmares when he woke her up screaming. He had inadvertently shown her his wings when they unfurled in his sleep. He had tried to explain away the loose feathers she found, the ones he had missed when burning the others. He had remembered Gabriel's warning, but she instead talked about faith, about how the lesions on her skin were a blessing and about how happy she was because _he's_ there. She held him when the pain in his body became too much. When all he wanted to do was get high. She held him when he kissed her. Ran her hands through his hair, through his feathers when he took her body for the first time. It wasn’t spectacular. He didn’t breathe Desire like his Twin. But it felt good. He felt just that little bit more whole, the pain of his separation from Samael a bit less.

Walking along the forest path he remembers going to mass last week. He didn’t like how the priest kept staring at them. Like he knows Michael doesn’t belong. He preached of Hellfire and brimstone. Of the dangers of laying with fallen angels. Instilling fear of his bright brother who was forced to rule Hell for eternity. He felt the fear rippling through the church and it took all of his willpower not to give in and stoke the fires. It left him feeling trapped in skin wrapped so tightly around him that even the slightest movement could rip it apart and spew his darkness everywhere. It was a dangerous situation, humans and their instincts. Like a heather fire, going underground only to pop up again without warning. This week though, not a peep about eternal damnation. _‘Huh…’_ The fear was still there though. He would need to keep an eye on that. Humans are unpredictable creatures after all.

They come across a scruffy looking man sitting by the side of the road. He is missing an eye and his face looks like it had been carved up by a sword. Old injuries to be sure, but the black eye and the way he holds his abdomen speak of much more recent events. Brigid clamps onto his good arm, trying to steer him away, but Michael frowns. She is saying something about bandits in the area, but he doesn’t really register it. There’s something about this man that feels familiar. He kneels before him and tries to ask what happened. He’s annoyed at how he stutters through his words like a child. How he hates all these different human languages. Why did they think the tower of Babel was a good idea again? To his surprise, the man answers in the language he had learned at court so many years ago. He launches into a harrowing tale of battle, his return from the Holy Land, and getting mugged so close to home. The bandits taking advantage of the loss of sight on one side to take him unawares. The knight, as he turns out to be, let’s his remaining blue eye wander over Michael’s body. From the way he holds his arm to the slope of his shoulder making Michael squirm, trying to hide his disability. The man’s story seems to check out. He has no weapons, no purse, and no boots! Bastards! Michael’s eyes narrow. How strange that they left the silver belt buckle in place. He glances at Brigid who is still glaring at the man warily. Strange that she wasn’t afraid of Michael, the angel of Fear, but did seem to be afraid of this guy. He can’t put his finger on it, but he feels like he should know him.

“I could heal you.” He tells the man without thinking gesturing at the missing eye. He feels in a charitable mood today and something in the man’s story connects with him on a deeper level. War he knows, and injury too. He pulls out the feather he keeps for emergencies. “You would leave here without a scar to mar your body.” The knight surprises him by scoffing. No, he tells them, he has lived this long. Tales of heroism, of suffering and of life are written all over his body for everyone to see. He has no urge to dabble in the dark arts. He looks at Michael as if trying to discern the nature of his injuries. Were they inflicted honourably or was he just born weak? Was it a sign of evil? Something flashes in that one eye, but it’s gone before Michael can name it. He is reminded of the story of Odin and how he gave up one eye. Traded it with Mímir to see the future... It reeks of divinity.

His jaw clamps shut, and he crushes the feather in his fist in anger. He pushes himself up and stumbles heavily to the right before catching himself. Michael doesn’t have scars to make people remember what he went through. No visible wounds to tell the story of what was done to him. How he was shattered by his father by his brother. Only the Fear and corruption of his Grace. The twisting of his body. The shame of his ragged black wings, with their bald patches and broken primaries. To think he would offer this man what he himself has never been offered. This human would die in a few years. Would happily skip into the Silver City and feel loved. Michael’s suffering is eternal and there’s nothing to show for it! Always one half of a whole. Always the shadow to his light. The one people rather forget. Nobody ever understood that. Not his brothers and sisters and certainly not this ' _human!_ ' Let the man suffer, see if he cares. He throws the man a few coppers and turns to stalk off, his body taut with suppressed fury.

He purposefully ignores the one bright blue eye taking in his every move. The way the Fear coils around him and the fading light of His Grace. Brigid tries to catch up with him, trying to calm him down. She puts her hands on his chest, stopping Michael dead in his tracks. He huffs out an angry breath and his shoulders lose a bit of their tension. Michael lets his fingers roam over her round belly, feeling the child kick against his hand. He gasps softly. It surprises him every time how strongly he can feel it. Her… He smiles at Brigid and kisses her. This may not be love, but it is something at least. Without looking back, they walk home.

The knight shakes his head sadly. One son so irate that he couldn't think straight, one son broken and unstable. _'Where had he gone wrong?'_   
“I didn’t know… I’m so sorry my boy.” He whispers in the dark, letting the cold rain soak into his bones. "Let it be done."  
Neither of them notices Azrael darting out after the pair or the belt buckle falling onto the ground from nerveless fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems that Meeklyopinionated stumbled into a plothole and some obscure medieval knowledge. I was actually considering making her a leper, but in the end decided against that as it would take too much explaining. I have decided to add this in a history note.
> 
> Despite what Hollywood tells us, lepers weren't ill treated during the time Michael was in Europe. They were seen as blessed through disease. They wore the marks of man's sin on their hands, feet and faces. Much like the marks on Jesus. They were seen as being closer to God than regular people. They were also generally well cared for despite living on the edges of civilization. There were even leper knights! Like the Knights of Lazarus. What you know from tv came much later with the advent of the black plague and the church cracking down on all things sinful. Even regular bathing became sinful then. Before that, medieval people were just like modern ones. Clean and relatively healthy. So the fact that she isn't scared may be because she's already diseased, considers herself blessed and sure of Heaven, or maybe she does recognise divinity because she's somehow closer to it. Leprosy isn't transmitted through sex or blood. Plus Mi is an angel.
> 
> We are now heading into Witch-Hunting times. Yes I am veering off a bit into the comics. Elaine is born from a human ova and carried to term inside Michael's body. The only angel able to reproduce because he is the Creation part of the Demiurge. Most of these offspring died or were horribly disfigured. Michael himself had been gravely injured and captured during the rebellion by one of his brothers to be used in this fashion. Despite all this he never lost faith. The ultimate goal was for Elaine to be able to reproduce and birth half/whatever angels.
> 
> Let me know what you think? I look forward to your reviews. They have been incredibly insightful.


	13. Death Does Not Forget

**Death Does Not Forget**

_~ “You were the one that told mum I slept with Lilith, weren't you? She even had the feather to prove it.” Lucifer glares at Michael over his glass of scotch. “It was Mum you know” he gestures with the glass like a fencer with a foil. “She convinced Dad to throw me into exile rather than death.”_   
_“What?” Michael shakes his head in denial, but Lucifer doesn't allow him to speak._   
_“You always thought too small brother.” He continues without mercy. “In all your machinations you ever only thought about yourself.” ~_

Her screams rip across the night as she labours to bring her child into the world. Michael can feel it so clearly, it’s almost as if he’s there. The fear from the babe is staggering. He can feel it through his connection to Creation, feel it through his Gift. The pressure crashes and wanes like a tidal wave. It's not pain per se, but more a general feeling of dread. How his little girl is struggling to be brought into the world. He suppresses scream of frustration at his own misfortune. Their unborn daughter, _his_ daughter is scared, and he’s stuck in the middle of fucking nowhere! The bridge has been washed out in the storm. The winds are howling, and he cannot unfurl his wings for the danger of being seen. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought Uriel had a hand in this.   
He had never thought about how humans came into the world. Angels were created fully formed and whole. Humans it seemed, came into the world screaming and traumatized. Tiny, helpless beings. Ripped from their mother's wombs and thrust into a world much too bright and far too quiet. Another wave of pressure threatens to take away his breath before it yet again wanes into a dull ache. For months he had felt her beautiful soul forming. A little spark of gold in the darkness that is so very much like his own. 

With a curse, he turns to find another way home. A cart rumbles past him in the dark, their horses spooked by the sudden change in weather. Something felt wrong about this whole situation. Something had been stirring that shouldn’t be stirring. A bit of back luck here, an accident there. None of which made any sense. He is shocked from his reverie by the crash of a tree falling down onto the path. Pushed over by the raging storm. The horses squeal in panic, trying to free themselves from their tack. They kick, foaming at the mouth and pull the cart further under the tree trunk that squashed it. Humans are shouting around him, trying to free the driver from his perilous position. He curses his Father and forces away the feeling of yet another contraction. He blinks the rain from his eyes and runs for the horses, grabbing their reins with his left hand. It would have been much faster to lift that tree, but that would have exposed him immediately as something Other. He had seen the looks the villagers gave him. They knew something was up. He was far too beautiful to belong and the fear that clung to him stirred up their worst instincts. He had seen the viciousness humans were capable of during the centuries he had spent on earth. He had no intention of putting his daughter in harm's way. The priest had been sniffing around their home far too often already for him to risk it. Not when luck seemed to have turned against him. _‘Damn it, Uriel, if this is your doing, I will rip you limb from limb!’_

Michael hisses when one of the horses clips in the leg him with their flailing hooves drawing blood. They knew a predator when it appeared before them and they tried to back away in terror. Despite the pain in his shoulder, he grabs the reins with both hands, forcing the horses to be still with pure unadulterated strength. Michael groans through gritted teeth. The fear of the humans, of his daughter, was getting to him in a way he had been trying to fight off since Gabriel came to pluck him from the battlefield. The pain in his body is slowly rising to blinding waves of agony and the darkness in his soul beckons. Tells him to let go. To take it all in. No! He can't lose himself now.  
 _‘Michael!’_ At the sound of her prayer, he loses the fight to keep the Fear at bay. He feels his body react. Goosebumps appear all over his skin and his pupils are blown out to pure black. He guides the fear of the beasts over the humans trying to save the driver. Unbridled fear turned to inhuman feats of strength. They lift the trunk with a roar, freeing the human trapped beneath. He gasps and shudders, the familiar feeling of ecstasy running through his veins. People are shouting, screaming even, but he takes no notice. Michael feels rather than hears the slightly hysterical laughter bubbling up in his throat and the humans look at him in horror.

Brigid moans and hums away her contractions. The storm is raging on outside and she prays to anyone who will hear to bring Michael home to her safely. She bites back another scream at a particularly sharp contraction when she hears the whoosh of wings.  
“Michael?” The name cuts off in a moan, followed by a string of curses in that strange language of hers. There is no awkward greeting. No slightly uneven gait to tell her, her beloved has returned to her. She opens her eyes to see a woman, no, an angel standing at the foot of her bed. Dressed in flowing black robes, with wings the colour of doves. Brigid’s eyes widen in fear. This isn’t Michael! She opens her mouth to scream, but her breath is once again stolen by another contraction. They are coming so close together now. There’s almost no recovery time left. 

Azrael watches her brother’s human struggle to breathe, struggle to regulate her pain. _‘Oh, Mi.’_ She blinks away a tear at what she is about to do. _‘Please forgive me.’_ She slowly opens her robes, spreading her arms to receive the soul she is about to reap.  
“No!” The woman shouts, hands shooting up to protect her belly. Azrael is crying in earnest now. She pulls on her little niece’s soul with purpose. Drawing it slowly, tenderly from her mother’s womb and into her breast. The woman’s cry knifes through her Grace like her brother’s wicked sword. Brigid bears down with all her might, her body naturally expelling the baby that had been growing within it for nine months. The girl, whose soul she just reaped. Azrael wished she could do something, anything. She hears the angry voices outside. There’s no more time! She beats her wings and slips through the planes, out of sight, but not out of mind. The angel of Death never forgets a soul. Azrael cries abjectly, sobbing into the nothingness that is her realm. She has no choice. None of them do. With pain in her soul, she leaves the woman to her plight and the world to her brother’s mercy. _'I'm so sorry.'_

“No…!” Michael gasps and doubles over at the sudden loss of life. _'What happened?! Brigid?!'_ The humans are bearing down on him now, brandishing axes and knives and even fallen off branches and he doesn't understand. A crossbow bolt punches through his feathers and into his wing. Wing? Michael screams the sudden pain enough to bring him back from the brink. He had unfurled his wings in rapture, his body betraying him after having gone so long without. He narrowly avoids the axe aimed for his head and stumbles away from the angry mob.  
“Demon! He turns around, disoriented in the downpour. “Devil!” The humans grab onto his wings, pull him to the ground. He fights the terror settling in his bones. No, his child needs him!  
“NO!” He roars, sending out a wave of fear, pushing himself up with all his might. He quickly ascends above the treeline, dodging arrows and rocks alike. _‘No…’_ His eyes turn glassy, his flight uneven and laboured. Pain lances across his shoulders and he almost crashes through the top layer before pulling up.

He can see the blazing fire from here. _‘Please Father, no!’_ He prays to his father, to his siblings, even to Samael. _‘Help me!’_  
He crashes through the mob surrounding the house. Punching, throwing, blocking their weapons in a way only hours upon hours of training could teach.   
“Brigid!” He calls out to her. Desperation colours his voice. He stumbles heavily to his right, choking on the smoke pouring from their home. Oh, how he regretted not going after whatever had been stealing his Divinity. The weakness that had been plaguing his body had grown enough to make him vulnerable even to human weapons. He coughs harshly and pushes inside, looking for the mother of his child. “Brigid! Where are you?!” He tries to peer through the billowing smoke, but it’s almost impossible to keep his eyes open in the scorching heat. It’s enough to burn his skin a bright red and he is assaulted by the smell of singed feathers. Michael drops onto his hands and knees, trying to find her by touch. He almost retches from the smell of blood. _‘No…’_ His hand touches her blood-soaked shift, and he gasps. He can’t breathe… He can’t breathe! Hacking and coughing, he scoops her up and bursts through the burning wall. Beams give away under the onslaught and the roof collapses in a shower of sparks.

He kneels down in front of the villagers. His black wings mantling around her body, protecting her from anything they might throw at them. He tries to rouse her. He needs to know! “Brigid! Where is she? Brigid!” Her head lolls to the side lifeless, her eyes as empty as her belly.  
"Satan!" they shout, "Kill him! Cast him back into Hell!"  
He looks up at the irate villagers surrounding him, desperate for a glimpse of his daughter. Arrows slam into his body, skidding over the black feathers on his wings and he grunts in pain. _‘No…’_ He drops the body to the ground. There is no need for tenderness now. Not when she is going to a better place. “Azrael!” He screams at the sky. “Where is she?! Rae-Rae please!” Rain lashes down onto the humans and thunder rolls heavily across the sky. He holds his breath, listening for an answer that doesn't come. "Please!" An unnatural silence descends upon them, if but for a moment. And as if by divine intervention, the crowd parts. That’s when he spots her. In the arms of the priest who now looks at him with terror in his eyes. So tiny, so beautiful, so lifeless. 

“Noooooo!” 

He howls, his eyes flashing with Divine light. His voice booms with the power he was graced with. He hears the humans scream and run for cover. Let them! They won’t escape his fury. His skin glows gold and his eyes reflect the light of the Demiurge. The world shakes and rumbles. Trees fall with a thundering crash, and the ground tears itself apart under his feet. His whole body is singing with power. An archangel unleashed. He draws his sword and spits out a single word. **“You…!”** The priest tries to run but is frozen to the ground by Michael’s Command. Michael bares his teeth in fury and dashes forward. His sword gleams in the firelight, the remnants of his Grace wraps itself around him and he runs the human through without remorse. He will kill them all for their transgressions against him. Against his beautiful little girl. He is hit by the unexpected smell of brimstone as the life bleeds from the priest, but he pays it no heed. He tenderly picks up his daughter while kicking the still twitching body from his blade. Her empty eyes are as dark as his own. Her hair still stuck to her head, matted with birthing fluids. Curls as dark as his. Her tiny hands, so perfect, so pale. So dead… A sob escapes from deep within his chest and he gently cradles her little body to his heart.

_‘I hate you.’_

Blood drips from the sword and his eyes are gleaming a feral light. Tears stream down his face and he screams to the heavens. His throat seizes up in anguish, breaking off the sound with a snap. His voice breaks, raw and betraying the absolute agony of losing something so precious.

**“I hate you!”**

He hates his father for creating the humans in the first place. His mother for allowing her children to be at each other’s throats. Samael for leaving him to fend for himself, for wanting the exact thing that tore humanity apart time and time again. He shields his tiny daughter from the world with his wings. God won’t stop him; he will tear Creation apart with his bare hands and all will feel his wrath!

* * *

Lilith stumbles back through the gates of Hell. Her eyes wide and panicked as the world shakes again. She huddles against the warm basalt pillars that line the maze, trying to protect her head from falling debris. She looks up at the approaching footsteps echoing through the sudden silence. There he is, the Lord of Hell in his full glory. White wings, alabaster skin and eyes as black as the night boring into her without mercy. He drops the lifeless body of her son at her feet and she shivers.  
“Lucifer…” She whispers breathlessly. He looms over her, trapping her against the wall with both arms. “Lucifer I can explain…!” He silences her with a deafening roar. His skin turns an angry red and his eyes blaze like Hellfire.   
“Lilith.” His voice sounds gravelly, the burnt skin on his face forcing him to enunciate clearly. Lucifer had never scared her before, but he does so now.

**“What did you do?!”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone please! Come save him from me!  
> Why do I keep doing this?!


	14. The Devil May Care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so this really needed to be off my chest. I even had trouble sleeping because of it. Thanks again for the lovely reviews. They truly make my day.
> 
> So, we finally see the Twins in action again. Don't expect any comfort though. Muahahaha

**The Devil May Care**

_~ “What was her name?”_   
_Michael leans his elbows on the bannister and looks out over the city. Even after all this time, the hurt had not faded. He forces himself to stop squeezing the metal railing. It wouldn’t do to shatter the glass and get him kicked out again. He presses his fist against his mouth instead and huffs out a harsh breath through his nose. From the corner of his eye, he can see Lucifer backpedalling quickly. Still the same old Samael he scoffs. Talking before thinking and running before taking responsibility. But that wasn’t true anymore, was it? The devil finally stood and accepted his punishment. He squares his shoulders and looks Lucifer right in the eye. Maybe it’s time he stopped running too._

_“Elaine. Her name was Elaine.” ~_

Lucifer found that it really wasn’t that difficult to locate his Twin. He could feel the cracks racing through Creation, threatening to tear it apart by the very seams. Hell was thankfully tied to his own Grace, _‘yes, thank you, Dad.’_ Lucifer makes a gagging sound at the back of his throat. Still, his brother’s little temper tantrum tore up hell loops and allowed doomed souls to escape. It was a royal pain in the arse, to be honest! He was forced to act before anything more powerful could be released back into Creation. _‘You’re welcome, Dad!’_ He fought the urge to flip off Heaven. No reaction from his brothers and sisters so far, no surprise there. That left _him_ to deal with Michael and leave Hell into the not so tender loving hands of Mazikeen and the Lilim. They are probably having a field day though. Lucifer growls in anger, pushing through the barrier separating Hell from the earthly plane. Lilith better be there when he returns. He's determined to get to the bottom of this. 

When he finally emerges, he is struck by the strange opaqueness of the sky. The sun looks dimmer than usual, like clouds of ashes are blocking its light. Almost like home… He scoffs derisively. It would be if he ignored the level of destruction running through earth’s crust and the way Creation is unravelling underneath his feet.   
He's shocked at the sight of his crabby Twin. Big patches of Michael’s skin are an angry red and covered in weeping blisters. It must have been agony to even move with them, but he keeps going anyway. His matted hair is plastered to his forehead and his wings look burnt and brittle. He looks more like the devil than Lucifer had in some time. _‘What the hell happened to you…?’_

What strikes him most is the golden light in his Twins eyes and the distinct lack of his Divinity holding any of it back. Another rumble shakes the ground, and he sends out a quick prayer. _‘Please don’t let Mum get out.’_ He waits in the shadow of the town church for Michael to finally notice him, frowning when he doesn't. The vacant look in his brother’s eyes makes him shiver. Lucifer watches as Michael struggles to take a step, and another one. His gait uneven and his breathing laboured. Lucifer winces when he spots the blood crusted sword dragging through the sand. His brother broke the only one of his dad's laws that Lucifer abided with. His Dad fearing Twin had killed a human… Preposterous! And yet, by the state of his clothing, there would probably be scores more dead at his hands.

He grumbles to himself moodily. Bloody demons and their human posessions. They never know how to behave, do they? He would give them more free reign if they did, but it always ends in bloodshed. Bloody idiots, the lot of them. He would put an end to that soon. No need to fill up Hell any faster than it already is. It's supposed to be a day job you know. He has better things to do with his nights. He smirks at the thought of the lovely Maze warming his bed tonight. But, first things first. 

Lucifer straightens his surcôte and fixes his hair. He’s the Dad damn Devil after all.   
“Brother!” He calls out jovially, though his furrowed brow belays the tone of his voice. A flicker of recognition enters his Twin’s eyes, and he stumbles, throwing out his uneven wings to keep balance.  
“Sam…?” Michael’s voice is hoarse, his speech almost unintelligible.   
“Ah, you got the wrong name there, brother.” He steps out into the dim light making a show of looking at his fingernails. “I go by Satan these days. You know, the Devil. Beelzebub, Old Scratch?” Lucifer smirks and gestures at his Twin’s body. “No offence Michael," he wrinkles his nose at the name, “but you look like shit.”

Lucifer takes in the way his brother lists to one side. His right shoulder hitched up as high as it can go. The way he cradles his one functional arm against his chest. His brows furrow perplexed by what he sees there. _‘Is that an infant?’_ It looks dead to him, by at least a couple of days. Strange for his brother to carry one around. Still no real reaction from Michael though. His face is just as vacant as before, his eyes just as glassy. He used to be so easy to rile up when they were still whole. When the made the universe and hung the stars. When they still loved each other... Equal in almost every way. He doesn’t see any of that in the angel huddling before him right now and all he feels is betrayal. His Twin has no right to look this way! Not when he had the whole bloody Host to look after him. A particularly strong tremor sends him sprawling to the ground, the buildings around them collapsing in a cloud of dust and flying rock.

“Michael!” He grounds out, his eyes flashing red. “Will you please stop with the theatrics. Hell is full enough as it is!”  
“You never called me that…”   
Lucifer almost missed the softly spoken statement. Haunted golden eyes are now locked firmly onto his and he feels the unspoken warning pulling on his senses. Creation and Will. Darkness and Light.  
“Well, Mikey, you lost the right to that name aeons ago.”  
That got him his first real reaction. The fingers on his brother’s lame arm tighten around the hilt of the sword. Bringing the blood-stained blade up to a semblance of a guard position. The big black wings spread out menacingly, but they look more like sooty rags than actual weapons and Lucifer doesn’t feel in the least bit threatened. _‘Time to save the world, I guess.’_ He rolls up his sleeves with style and starts to circle his brother. Stalking around like a lion eyeing its prey. 

Michael turns with him, off-balance, with tremors running through his exhausted body. Lucifer’s eyes narrow. He knows his brother; he knows what he is capable of. He had experienced that first-hand when Michael had run him through with his sword. He still has the scar to remind him of it. The use of a celestial blade making sure it stayed, a blemish on his otherwise perfect body. They fought enough times to know each and every feint, twitch, and tactic they could think of. But Michael seemed, well, unhinged. Somewhere in the world, another volcano belches pyroclastic clouds of sulphur and ashes into the stratosphere. Time is running out. Another stab of anger flashes through his being. His brother was a fearful creature, yes, but battle he knew! He’s never been this passive. He had no trouble drawing his sword on him when he finally showed up at Hell’s gates. Lucifer eyes the wavering tip of his brother’s blade. Why would he hold back now? He bares his teeth in fury. This isn’t the brother he loved so dearly. This is an impostor! His eyes light up in silver and he rushes forward, past the sluggish defensive movement of the sword and punches his brother square in the face. 

* * *

Michael had been out of it enough to miss the signs of the incoming attack from his brother. Lucifer’s fist hits him square in the jaw and he immediately tastes the blood on his tongue. He stumbles back, trying to regain his balance but Samael isn’t having any of it. He’s raining punch after punch down on his brother and Michael is forced to either drop his baby girl or take his Twin head-on. Michael hugs the lifeless new-born to his chest tighter. _‘Never!’_ He pushes off with his wings, forcing his exhausted body to comply. He falls back into the familiar pattern without thinking. Attack, parry, step back, repeat. Samael isn’t holding back though. He can feel Sam’s demiurgic power clashing with his own. Trying to undo the damage he’s wrought so far. Will over Creation and he was losing, badly. Michael grunts and tries to roll with the blows, but his body is starting to shut down on him. Gulping in shallow breaths, he fights to stay on his feet and moving. A swift hit to his bad shoulder has him crying out in pain, his vision greying out along the edges. Michael collapses onto his knees, gasping and whimpering in distress.

Lucifer grabs is his hair and pulls his head back painfully, forcing Michael to look into his brother’s furious eyes.   
“Why are you holding back?!” Lucifer screams into his face. Michael drops the sword from nerveless fingers and tries to cover his head. Even though he knows it’s far too late for that now, he curls protectively around his daughter’s tiny body as far as his brother’s iron grip on his hair allows it. He feels his grasp on Creation loosening, his Twin’s Grace easily overpowering him. Subduing him until he’s a trembling crippled mess. Samael always was the brighter Twin. Lucifer, the favourite son. Michael’s eyes turn back to the dark colour they have always been and slowly, Samael’s eyes lose their ethereal glow too.

Michael starts laughing then. A disturbing sound bordering on full-blown hysteria. One brother standing, healthy and hale, one on his knees broken beyond mending. A distorted mirror image of what they were during the rebellion. Though he already was broken way before then.   
Samael, the Lightbringer. The Rebel who threw it all away on false pride.   
Him, the darkness. The dutiful son. The one made wrong.   
“He’s still manipulating you, brother.” Michael doesn’t register the look of horror on his Twin’s face nor his fingers relaxing in his hair. “He still wants you to atone for your sins, he still wants _you_ to come home." His voice cracks on the last word. He giggles and gasps, sucking in desperate breaths between bouts of laughter.

“It’s all your fault. You destroy everything you touch.” Michael’s vision grows blurry, and he has to blink away the tears in his eyes. He hugs the tiny lifeless body closer to his heart. “You cheated the humans; you gave Father the idea of free will. But that wasn’t enough was it? You wanted it for yourself.” Michael wheezes and chokes on his laughter. “It’s how we are made, isn’t it. Father isn’t just. You knew this! And still, you fought. Ripped us apart, you left me.” He folds himself in half. His forehead almost touching the ground. Tears drip down his face and onto the filthy road. “Ask me…” Lucifer steps back unconsciously shaking his head. “I said ask me!” Michael screams at his Twin, his voice breaking on the sheer volume produced.

When had his brother picked up the sword? Michael shakes his head to clear it. It doesn’t matter. Not anymore. He looks straight into Lucifer’s eyes. Prompting him to ask the question. Lucifer swallows. 

“Michael, what do you desire?”

Michael winces at the lack of a nickname. He feels his brother’s gift flow over him, the buzzing that fills his ears loud enough to drown out his own heavy breathing. It feels nice. Familiar...  
“I… Kill me.”  
“No.”  
“Please brother.” Michael bows his head, his fist clenched in his lap.  
“No!”  
“Why not…?!”  
“Because…” Samael looks torn. His hand tightens around the hilt and he’s struggling to find the right words. “Because it would release the Demiurge. It would destroy all Creation.” Michael looks up and howls. His face scrunched up in helpless fury.

**“I don’t care!”**

Samael refuses to look at him after that. He unfurls his wings with a snap and leaves. Taking his sword, the only thing he had left to his name with him. Michael struggles to his feet. His wings drag behind him. He doesn’t have the strength to fold them, nor furl them out of sight. He limps into the church, the only building still left standing. He coughs in the dust that fills the air inside. He drags himself from pew to pew, slowly getting closer to the altar. Michael ignores the statues of human saints. They are meaningless to him. He glances up at the stained-glass window of Saint Michael’s triumph over the dragon and he closes his eyes in despair. He gently lies his daughter down on the altar. He rearranges the embroidered altar cloth to support her tiny head, even though she will never need it again. Michael places both hands on the marble top and he cries. He cries for her brilliant soul, for he knows he can never enter Heaven again. Not after breaking Father’s rules, not after falling. He cries over his abandonment, over his inability to adapt, his inability to die. Knowing he can never have his revenge because his father wills it so.

He sags down, onto his knees before the cross and he folds his hands in prayer.  
“Please, Father… Please end me.” Michael presses his forehead to the cold marble. So, like home and yet so far away. “Please… I have nothing more to give.” He’s crying abjectly, in an empty church, before the symbol of human religion and he’s never felt so alone. He doesn’t hear the whoosh of wings. He doesn’t see Amenadiel bending down to pick up his broken body, leaving his broken heart with his daughter.  
“Let’s get you home Mike.” Amenadiel’s warm voice flows over him but does nothing to soothe his grief. Why didn’t he show up before? Why didn’t he come and save them when he prayed for help? What has he ever done to deserve that?  
He feels his body get pushed through the planes, hears the music of Heaven and it fills him with disgust. He will have his revenge. He swears it.

Warm hands lift the tiny babe from her resting place. She looks so much like her father. A single tear drips down onto the cold marble of the altar. The patterns become clearer every day and it pains him to see his own end. “Soon, little one. Everything will work out, you'll see.” He buries her in the forest under a yew tree. He writes a letter and leaves it in one of the manuscripts kept in the crypt, pattern firmly in place. “One day, he will find you again.” 

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do have a history note for you this time. 
> 
> The dark ages were called that not necessarily because they were culturally dark, but rather actually dark. The explosion of a super volcano had caused so much ash to accumulate in the stratosphere that the sun was actually blocked from reaching the ground. Temperatures went down, crop yields were minimal and it caused the collapse of the Roman Empire. A series of volcanic eruptions during the 13th century heralded the beginning of what's known as the little ice age. Another main event happened in the 15th century leading to the little ice age 2.0  
> It caused economic struggle, war, famine, plagues and the collapse of the church into smaller factions. This time was also wrought with witch-hunts which lasted almost to the end of the little Ice Age in the 19th century.  
> Destruction also breeds creation and we saw a growth in the arts, medicine and science during this time too. I would like to think that this is in part enabled by Lucifer himself, as proven by his collection of art pieces and his library. All of them gifts.
> 
> I have coincided Michael's first appearance, his loss of control with Gabriel and him trying to end Creation with these main events. Funnily the first one actually fits with the apparition over Hadrian's tomb.


	15. Stairway to Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fact that there's a highway to Hell and only a stairway to Heaven shows how much traffic is expected.

**Stairway to Heaven**

_~ “It never was me, you big oaf!” They are glaring at each other across Rico's bar. Amenadiel is sporting an impressive set of bruises and maybe even a few broken ribs, but that's nothing compared to how cut up Lucifer’s face is. Not that it deters the ladies in any way and Lucifer knows it. Amenadiel knows there might be a lady or two waiting for his brother, to help him take care of his ‘wounds’.  
“What do you mean, it wasn't you?” Amenadiel is holding an ice pack against his face, waving away the glass of scotch his brother is offering him.   
“Whatever you might have read or heard. I'm not evil.” Lucifer sighs and slowly sits down, hissing in pain. “The face of the devil isn't mine.” He glares at the dumbstruck expression on his brother’s face. “Come on now brother, you cannot be that slow! He shares my face and he's manipulative, conniving dick? Name ends with el?”  
“You mean, Michael?”  
“Michael.” Lucifer’s nods, his expression as dark as his brother’s soul. ~_

Michael is struck by how nothing had changed in all those centuries he had been away. The city is as bright as ever, the fear creeping in every corner still as deep. Amenadiel carries him through the streets to the infirmary. His disgrace there for all to see, but he couldn’t have walked even if he tried. He closes his eyes in misery. Maybe if he doesn’t see them, maybe they won't see him either. A childish thought no doubt, but the only one he had any energy for.

Amenadiel is worried. His brother had been trying to muffle his whimpers, but he cannot hide the way his breath hitches in pain every step of the way. And the state he's in! Michael is hanging limp in his arms like a rag doll. Empty and soulless and injured beyond belief. So far removed from the brother he used to know, he just doesn’t know what to do. When he came back home after dropping Mom off and didn't find Michael there, he just assumed his brother needed some time to himself. Michael was known throughout the Host for being broody when his Twin was away and he thought he was just in one of his moods. He wasn't prepared for the sight that greeted him at the church though. Injured and crying and with no real Grace to speak of. If not for the wings, he would have thought him human.

The wings, Amenadiel winces, they looked awful. With most of the feathers singed or burned, there was not much left of them that spoke of Michael’s Celestial origin. _‘Did he fall...?’_ Amenadiel shakes his head in denial. Wouldn’t he have joined his beloved Twin if he had? Samael and Michael had always been joined at the hip. No, he would just have to have faith in his little brother. Angels don't fall just like that. Not without warning. He wished Father would talk to him though. He'd gone down to kick Lucifer’s ass back into Hell on His behalf. His brother never learned, did he? It’s a good thing Uriel found out about his brother’s visit to Earth so quickly. Lucifer still even smelled of Hell when Amenadiel found him. Normally he only finds out after days or even weeks and it’s staggering the amount of mischief, Lucifer could cause in such a short amount of time. He struts through the Silver City in pride. Devil's ass kicked; wayward brother retrieved all in all a job well done. Amenadiel flexes his muscles trying for a better hold on Michael's body and is rewarded with a guttural moan. 

“Almost there, brother.”

After Sam’s rebellion, his stunt in the garden and his vacations on earth, there was one thing that stood out to Amenadiel and that was that Divinity and humanity don't mix. He had been keeping tabs on his brother's escapades on earth. Wherever he went, chaos and destruction followed. Amenadiel frowns darkly. He knows Luci hates it when people regard him as evil, but the facts just keep adding up. A few works of art did not negate all the wars caused by his “divine" intervention. He adjusts his grip again to keep Michael's beaten-up wings from catching on the pavement. So far, Gabriel and himself had been enough to keep the devil in check. This time though, the sheer amount of damage was shocking and he had no idea what could have caused it. He didn’t have the feeling for Creation the Twins did and he did not like flying blind. He wonders what Michael had been up to all these years. Maybe he should ask him when he was feeling better? He's torn from his musings by Raphael’s horrified gasp. Michael is taken from his arms and carried inside. He doesn't know how to answer any of his brother’s questions and with pain in his heart, he leaves his brother in Raphael’s excellent care. He glances back at the darkened doorway of the infirmary and he shudders. _‘Faith Amenadiel. You just gotta have faith.’_

Michael is up as soon as he can escape from Raphael’s clutches. He bursts from the infirmary into the blinding light that permeates everything in heaven. It's almost enough to send him scrambling back to the shadows for fear of being burned alive. He grits his teeth and forces himself to look relaxed. He’s home now. It is where he belongs. He grimaces at the lies he keeps telling himself to get himself through the day. An angel without a purpose, with nothing but his own mind to keep him company. Not even a half anymore. His skin is still very tender and the new feathers coming in itch like crazy, but he’ll be damned before he unfurls his wings. Nobody cared before, did they? He isn't going to give any of them any gossip fodder even if it killed him.

He does miss the comforting weight of his sword at his side. Raphael had asked about it but he had told half-truths and bald-faced lies until his brother gave up. It’s better than they never knew about the humans he’d killed. How he’d wanted to destroy them all like Gabriel had razed Sodom. It wouldn’t do if he wanted to achieve anything. He needed to plan ahead, to keep his lies straight and wield the truth like a weapon. He flexes his right arm, pushing through the pain. The limb never behaves as it should. It hasn't since the rebellion, but things are going to change now. He sick and tired of waiting for his father to come to his senses. For him to open up his eyes to Michael's suffering. No grand plan could be more important than his own children.

Michael doesn't notice Uriel quietly assessing him from the shadows. The patterns keep changing around his brother. He is a wild card and always has been. More so even than his Twin. One governed by choice, the other by chance. His father made a mistake when he allowed the Demiurge to be split in twain. He would have to adjust the pattern yet again. They would either be the cause of Creation’s destruction or its salvation. At this rate, Hell would soon run over and neither of his brothers is ready to face the end of days. Uriel shakes his head. He wished he could see more. The unknown variables are enough to drive even the most well-balanced angel insane.

A resounding crash breaks the tranquil silence of the archives, startling the angels working there. Michael overturns yet another chest of ledgers with a bang. Where is she! He's been searching high and low for any sign of his daughter. Sifted through countless scrolls, talked to everyone he could think of. Heaven had expanded exponentially since he went down and he felt lost. It would help immensely if he'd known how they’d spelt her name, or even if he knew how much time had passed since she died. _‘Elaine...’_ With a roar he throws the box against the far wall, scattering scrolls everywhere. He leans back on the desk, breathing hard. His hands are placed on its top and his head is hanging low. Her beautiful little soul is nowhere to be found. It was almost as if she’d never even existed. He stifles a sob in his hand. Michael sinks into the one chair not covered in ledgers and he hides his face in his hand. His right lies curled up into a fist in his lap, stiff and unresponsive. He remembers it so clearly. That night he first laid with Brigid. How they made love and how she accepted him, ragged wings and all. How he knew she was with child before even she knew. He felt her soul forming, bright as day and he had taken to calling her Elaine even before she herself had seen the light. Elaine, his little ray of sunshine.

He'd asked Uriel first because he's the one welcoming new souls into heaven, but it had gotten him nowhere. Oh, how he wished he had his Twin’s eye for spotting a liar. No matter how much time he spent lying to Samael’s face, Sam always saw through it within seconds. He’d gotten better at it. Lying like any other skill takes practice. But Sam got better at spotting them too even if he didn't always call Michael out on them. Samael always tried to push through, knew how much Michael needed him despite his lies. And yet, he had no trouble rebelling despite his brother’s fears, no trouble maiming his Twin, no trouble seducing the humans and making death a certainty for them. For her... Michael squeezes his eyes shut, forcing his tears away.

Brigid had been relatively easy to find. He'd watched her from afar as she interacted with her loved ones. Her siblings, her parents, her first husband. She had moved on, or perhaps moved backwards and he was once again left behind. For a moment he entertained the thought of speaking to her, to reconnect even though he knew it wasn't love. But she looked at him with fear in those beautiful blue eyes and it hurt. She was never afraid of him in life, but maybe now she could really see what he was. A broken angel, washed out by those around him brighter than him. A mere shadow of what he should have been. Their daughter’s death had smothered what little light he had left in his soul. Left him with only the pain, only the darkness. He left her and never looked back. The loss was just too great. A low sounding whine escapes him and it breaks the silence like the crack of a whip. He flees from the archives, from the proof that he'd been left to rot by his family. If nobody remembers it, did it even happen?

Nothing ever changes in the Silver City and its agony. The light burning away anyone that doesn't fit doesn't belong, forcing them to bend or break for fear of being forgotten. The sickening feeling of peace and happiness forced upon every soul there. He is greeted by his siblings as if they had just seen him yesterday. They never even noticed! Too caught up in their own scheming, drawn in by the power vacuum left by Samael’s fall. His father’s abandonment of his children. His mother’s incarceration. They never learn. In his anger, he doesn't notice the tension in their bodies, nor the fear in their eyes. Samael still is everywhere. From the hopeful glances at his face to the second they remember it couldn’t be him. It would never be him. Fury is stirring within him; flames of white-hot anger lick up his spine and he clenches his fists tightly to keep from losing control.

The moment he steps into his old rooms is when he loses it. Nothing had changed! Samael was still here! With a scream he overturns the dresser, smashing it into tiny pieces against the floor. The splinters cut his skin, but he doesn’t feel any of it. His face is a mask of fury. His teeth bared in a feral snarl and his eyes darker than black. He rages and howls, destroying every little thing that once belonged to his brother. Every sign of their old life, of their love for each other. He catches sight of himself in the polished silver mirror. His face like his brother identical and yet so different. The favourite son and the forgotten one. Light and dark. Once created equal and perfect, now separated and beyond repair. Enraged, he punches his mirror image violently, bending the metal around his fist, trapping him in an eternal fight with himself. Michael pulls back his hand with a gasp, trembling with some unnamed emotion. A feeling of enlightenment perhaps. He looks at his own face in the bent mirror. The image distorted, grotesque even. He unfurls his wings, dark and menacing amidst the destruction. Much more like how he feels right now anyway. Twisted like his spine, like his shoulders, like his gimp wing. His eyes are hard as diamonds, unblinking and unfeeling. He's beyond fear now. He bares his teeth at his reflection in a lopsided smirk. He's going to show him. Show his father he chose the wrong son to love. He will make his brother pay for treating him this way. For kicking him when he was down. For not even noticing his pain and his loss.

He isn't going to bend, for he is already broken. He won't be forgotten. He will make them all pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we'll arrive at show!time. After that all bets are off. I'll probably go wildly off canon though I will try to fit it all in if I can.
> 
> Elaine does mean ray of sunshine. It's a Greek name. I did add a new blurb to chapter 9 btw. I had totally forgotten to include Lucifer's first deal, the one that made him the devil.


	16. Highway to Hell

**Highway to Hell**

_~ Even after all this time, there are still some things that can shock the Angel of Death. The car, or what's left of it is crushed almost beyond recognition. The sound of a child crying reaches the world only she and the dead may occupy, and she immediately shifts. She reaches into the car and sucks in a shaky breath. ‘oh, thank Dad.’ The girl is still alive.  
“Shhhh baby, I've got you.” The eight-year-old cries and rubs her eyes. _   
_“Please miss, it hurts!”_   
_“I know Ella. Come, let me get you out.” Azrael bends the frame, widening it enough for her to pull the little girl out. She hugs the girl, reborn after being her charge for hundreds of years, and lets out a relieved laugh. Her soul, her beautiful bright soul is still there. Sirens sound in the distance, but she can't let go quite yet._   
_“How do you know my name? Where’s my papa?” Azrael finds herself unable to answer the second question so, she blurts out the first thing that comes to mind._   
_“I'm a ghost.”_   
_“If you are a ghost, then why can I touch you?” The girl sniffles genuinely interested despite her fear._   
_“I uh... I can't tell you. Ghost rules.” Human hands pick Ella up, reaching through her angelic body as if it were air._   
_“Smell ya later, squirt.” and Ella smiles through her tears. ~_

“Come on now brother, you are not letting the _Devil_ get the best of you? You, father’s strongest angel?” Amenadiel looks up to see the dark Twin leaning casually against the doorsill. He _knows_ he shouldn’t let Michael get under his skin, but the barb stings. It stays and festers, and he doesn’t like the feeling. He _should_ have gotten Lucifer back to Hell ages ago. Before he found Chloé before he changed. Before he found out the idiot had cut off his own wings to make it impossible for him to return under his own power.  
“You know Mike,” Amenadiel turned around, flexing his bulging arms in warning, “you could go down and do it yourself you know.” Wincing when Michael’s face immediately morphs into a stricken expression. His brother gestures helplessly at his lame side and shakes his head sadly, his eyes gleaming with unshed tears.  
“You know I would brother… If only I were… whole.” Amenadiel hates the way his brother’s voice breaks on that last word! Dad damn it, he _knew_ he was being played, well, he thinks he is. But he also remembers what Michael looked like after the rebellion. The pain he had been in, the sorry state of his wings. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.  
“What do you suggest then, brother? That I steal his wings to force him back? Kill him?” He scoffs at that. The thought...ha! He doesn’t need to ask for advice. He’s the eldest and therefore the wisest. Michael pushes away from the door and slithers his way to Amenadiel’s side. He places a warm hand on his shoulder, squeezing it in comfort.  
“I am sure you’ll find a way brother.” Michael looks at him with those deep dark eyes and he smiles benignly. “Remember, when you have the Lord on your side, you cannot go wrong.”  
“Yeah…” Amenadiel nods, his dark mood clearing up in moments. “Yeah, that’s right ain’t it. Thanks, Mike!” He laughs and pats his brother on the shoulder, not noticing the smirk blossoming on Michael’s face.

“You’re welcome, brother.”

* * *

He finds out Amenadiel has fallen when Uriel disappears from the gates. His brother, the fist of God, fallen! Michael smiles. Finally, the big idiot has fallen by the wayside in his efforts to get Lucifer to return. He reaches for his left-wing and plucks one of the bigger feathers. The controlled pain something he craved now. He twirls the dull black feather between his fingers in thought. He had known it wouldn't work. The humans had come too far, they had been too exposed to Divinity. They had plotted and schemed as humans do and finally, Amenadiel had gone too far. He had the blood of many innocent humans on his hands. Turns out he was no better than Samael after all. He chuckles coldly. Pride was their sin, for both of them. He leaves Amenadiel to his own devices. Let’s see how _he_ enjoys his extended stay on Earth. 

It is when Lucifer commits the greatest sin of all, that Michael is left shell shocked. Uriel, his little brother… The one who fought with him at the Edge… dead… No! Worse than dead! How could his brother be so callous? He knew the two had never gotten along, but to _end_ him…?  
 _ **“What have I done…?”**_ \- And all for his manipulative mother and some _human!_ Michael had thought that maybe, _maybe_ his brother really had changed. But no, his brother always had to make things more complicated than they already were.   
_**Lucifer steps out in front of the shooter. Looking haggard and lost.**_ – He took his brother’s life.  
 _ **“Shoot me!”**_ \- Doing without thinking. Choosing himself over all others.  
 _ **“Come on now mister sniper! Don’t shoot her, shoot me!”**_ \- Letting his Twin once again deal with the aftermath.  
 _ **“It’s like he’s not even trying!”**_ \- Michael bets his brother is back to partying. Back to being the selfish asshole, he is. Not even a care in the world.  
 _ **“Why didn’t you shoot me?”**_ \- Lucifer deserves to be punished. 

Michael’s feet scuff up clouds of dust in the empty courtyard. He’s breathing hard, but so is Gabriel. He drops back into a simple guard position. He'd been pushing his body through the pain. Forced his twisted spine to straighten and to become again what he once was. A warrior of Heaven. He weaves and feints, trying to deck his brother with a wicked left hook, but he's pushed back onto his bad leg and he needs to back off.

Faced with the fallout of Uriel's death, he had comforted his siblings, even offered to pray to their father on their behalf. A lie, of course, their father hasn’t listened to any of them in millennia. Why would he start now? Still, blessed are those poor in spirit. He held their hands in faked sympathy while subtly enhancing their fears.   
He had grieved for Uriel in private. They had grown apart since they were but youngsters, wicked in their ways and with a mean streak to boot. He still held fond memories of Uriel though. Of how they’d prank Amenadiel into thinking he was Sam, or how they poured itching powder into Gabriel’s bed and scared Azrael until she screamed bloody murder.

He wonders if his brother would have liked Elaine. Knowing how his brother liked to cheat at games, much to the chagrin of Samael, he probably would have taught her to count cards. To see the patterns, to connect the dots.   
Michael snarls at his russet feathered brother. He just needs to plan things better. Despite what Amenadiel believed about himself, Gabriel is the apex warrior of the Silver City. Not to mention the current commander of Heaven’s Legions. No more excuses. No more hiding behind a sword or a shield. Modern times didn’t allow for them anyway. Hand to hand combat had never been his strong suit, but beggars can’t be choosers. Michael rushes towards his brother and breaks through his defence with a vicious kick to his brother’s stomach.  
“What the hell is wrong with you today, Mikey?!” Gabriel glares at him, trying to catch his breath, hands on his knees.

They would never find out though, would they? She was taken from him before either of them could know her. Like she never had been there in the first place. He throws a wicked combination of punches and kicks at his brother, forcing Gabriel to back down. Here they are, at the exact same spot where his father had ended dozens of his siblings. For speaking against him, for not being the children he expected them to be. Michael had been there and so had Gabriel. And now Uriel had been erased from existence like his brothers and sisters before him.  
He ducks and dives, pushing forward when he can, his punches connecting solidly with his brother’s body. He had felt it when the pull on his Grace had suddenly died away, leaving him with only the silence. Maybe it had been his arrival in Heaven or maybe something else was going on, but he was gradually getting stronger. He sidesteps Gabriel’s lunge, but his uneven gait betrays his intentions. Gabriel’s fist clips his head, and he growls. No more holding back! He forces his right arm up, blocking Gabriel’s strikes, trying his best to ignore the discomfort that follows every movement of the limb. He needs to be at his best.

A Miracle. Samael’s human is a fucking Miracle. Made by Father, specifically for his favourite son. It wasn’t enough that he had rebelled, that he’d slept with Eve and even seduced Adam. That he’d let Mom escape and killed Uriel. No… He had Amenadiel go down to bless some random humans, giving _them_ a child to love and to raise. Only to give her to Lucifer as what? A reward? A pat on the head from their Divine Father? Michael scoffs at the thought. Free will my ass. God designed a human for one single purpose. To warm the Devil’s bed. He can only imagine what his Twin’s reaction will be when he finds out. It has to be some kind of manipulation though. The Lord gives and the Lord taketh away doesn’t he. Michael knows this first-hand. He would have done anything to keep his girl alive, to have had a bit more time with Brigid. He loved and lost, and nobody cares. His brother only thought of himself and he gets a girlfriend. He wants what his brother doesn’t deserve to have. Michael smirks darkly and aims another hard kick at Gabriel's side. He wonders how much the Devil is willing to pay the piper.

“Mike! Are you trying to kill me?!” Gabriel is panting hard. He is sporting a split lip and by the way, he holds himself, probably a few cracked ribs too. Michael is seething underneath his outward veneer of calm.   
“Little old me?” Michael smiles, all teeth and no joy. “I could never hope to defeat you, brother.” _‘not in a fair fight anyway’_ He had taken to wearing high collared robes to hide what his glamour couldn’t. They had the added benefit of obscuring his movements. He doesn’t take his eyes off God’s Voice. He doesn’t need to because Gabriel is coming at him with a growl and murder in his eyes. Perfect.

Mom escaped and they found the flaming sword… Michael didn’t even know how to react to that at first, but after the initial shock had passed, he could only rub his hands in glee. This is where Samael would show his true colours! Seems fitting that his brother, the Lightbringer would be the only one able to wield it. This is where everyone would see he had not changed a bit! If only he knew how they’d gotten their hands on it. Sadly, his brother had used the blasted thing to give Mom her own universe. Effectively keeping heaven from war and hurrah, praise all around. Mom is gone and with her, went any chance of ever getting an apology. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. In the end, he does cry even if she doesn’t deserve it. While Heaven rejoiced, he hid away, alone in his grief. Even after everything she’d done, even though she could never see him past his Twin, he still loved her. 

They all forgot what it was like having her here, having _them_ here. The memories of the rebellion are still fresh in his mind despite it being so long ago. The curse of immortality he thinks. His siblings seemed to have forgotten. Forgotten the bloodshed, how Sam took a third of the Host down with him. Brothers and sisters, they would never see again. Then again, perhaps that’s the nature of the Silver City. The fucking happiest place in the universe. Complete with a melody that gets stuck in your head. Michael fought the urge the crawl into a corner and hide in misery. Instead, he takes to lounging in his new seat at “God’s” right hand, the air quotes are quite fitting don’t you agree. He told his siblings he had a direct line to Dad now. The only line too.

“Lucifer has changed!” Gabriel had trumpeted it throughout the City. Echoed by Raphael and many more of their siblings. “Lucifer has gone back to Hell of his own volition. Lucifer has grown so much.”   
It’s making him feel sick! His asshole brother, who had committed countless sins. Who killed his own brother, killed a human! Lucifer, who _finally_ does what he is supposed to do is suddenly back in everyone’s good graces?!  
“Lucifer! Lucifer! Lucifer!”

His 'training' with his brother had turned into a vicious brawl. They kick and punch, hit and miss. The rhythm of the fight lost in his brother's anger.   
Amenadiel is becoming a father… He kicks sand into Gabriel's face and darts forward. Lucifer died for his Chloé twice, and Amenadiel is going to a _dad!_ Michael grabs his brother's copper curls in his right fist and knees him in the face, hard. He is an angel with nothing left to lose. No more mercy! He gives in to his darkest desire and beats Gabriel into a bloody pulp. Where had he been when Michael needed him? When he prayed and begged for help but they did nothing. When he got beaten into submission by his brighter brother.   
“I’m sorry brother.” He says before stepping over Gabriel’s prone body. “I can’t have you following me, now can I.”  
Michael stalks past the gates and spreads his dark wings. His Twin gets a miracle, his other brother gets to have a child! He will no longer wait for any of his manipulations to take hold. It's time he took matters into his own hands. He's going to show everyone they are wrong. That Lucifer didn't change and even if he did, it was too little too late. 

He was going to break Lucifer’s toys. Michael was going to have his retribution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there he is ladies and gentlepeople. The one, the only: Properly angry, thoroughly evil Michael!  
> Can I get a hallelujah?
> 
> Oooh I love him so much!
> 
> I'm getting cold feet now that we have to wait for the second half of the season. Shall I continue this fic in my own way or wait until the season drops. Will it bother you if we go wildly off canon?


	17. Short is the Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have taken some of the dialogue from the show because its just too good not to use. I hope you like this chapter as it really sets up Michael's time here on earth. 
> 
> I have an ending and a road to it in my head. I could use someone to talk to about this, but you would have to suffer spoilers. 
> 
> Any takers?

**Short is the Road That Leads From Fear to Hatred**

_~ “Oh, I think thou doth protest too much. You see, you pride yourself on exploiting everyone's fears, but we've always known yours. You're terrified that Lucifer is better than you. That he'll always be better than you.”  
Michael hates being caught in the truth, and he retreats quickly, unsubtly betraying his own feelings. It takes just that bit more time to answer to his brother and he hates the knowing look on Amenadiel’s face.  
“Please. Our brother? The Devil? The, the, the guy that was cast out of Heaven for all eternity?” He grits his teeth, trying to stop the waterfall of words before he digs himself any deeper.  
“Exactly, Michael, because despite even that, you know, deep down...he'll always end up winning.”  
Michael uses his gift, reflecting, tasting his brother’s fear and his eyes turn darker than dark in the low light of LUX.  
“We'll see.”   
With a dark grin, he disappears into the crowd. ~ _

The elevator dings. Michael groans and shuffles into the empty penthouse. He hadn’t been prepared to meet up with Amenadiel this early in the game, but it did provide a valuable opportunity to scope out his older brother’s fears. Seems little Charlie is high up on his list. He huffs a laugh. Who would have thought his brother would develop fatherly instincts. Too bad it wouldn’t stop him from getting his apology from the oaf. Michael heads for the bar to pour himself a drink. _‘Hmm…’_ Not really to his taste, but it would have to do for now. He quickly drains the glass and sets it down on the glass top with a click. He recognized his brother’s hand in his human’s lives the moment he stepped foot on earth. Sam’s need to fulfil every desire wreaked more havoc and sowed more discord up in heaven than Michael’s lies ever could. Or maybe it did because of them. He huffs a laugh. Samael breeds more fear than he realizes because when you have something, you fear losing it.

The penthouse is blessedly dark in its design. A stark contrast to their rooms in the Silver City. It’s nice though. It fits him perfectly like the room is built to offset his brighter Twin whereas he can slink back into its shadows.  
He wrestles himself out of his brother’s clothes with a hiss and a curse. The jacket is far too tight for his frame and keeping his shoulders level all day has made them stiff beyond belief. The sleeve catches on his bad arm and pain races up to and down his shoulder and spine. With a growl, he grabs the silk and rips it off. Michael relishes the sound of the shoulder seam tearing under his rough hands. Good thing he picked the most expensive-looking suit in Lucifer’s walk-in closet. His brother could use a bit of hubris. Michael chuckles and drops the ruined jacket to the floor. He really should have been expecting his brother’s pet demon, but he was tired of faking the accent, tired of faking his Twin’s posture and he let down his guard. What can you do. With a crash, he suddenly finds himself choking, fighting to draw in a full breath. Mazikeen’s thighs are wrapped tightly around his throat, his left arm stretched in a death grip. He had hoped to meet up with her soon but under decidedly less violent circumstances. 

“I’m not Lucifer!” He gasps “I am not Lucifer!” It takes a while for Maze to let up, and when she finally does, he cannot help but rub his throat and shoulder. He had only seen her once before and he had not been prepared for the sight of her half rotten face then. But now, he was equally surprised by the quality of her glamour. It takes a strong demon to keep something like that up indefinitely. The only thing that betrays what lies beneath is the scar on her left eyebrow. He is taken by her infernal beauty. He can imagine why his brother kept her close. she looks so much like Lilith it almost hurts. The same skin, the same dark desires swirling in those eyes, that familiar spark that he knows as Creation. _‘What?’_ His thoughts are derailed though by the fear clinging to her like a fine vintage. He takes in a deep breath, inhaling in her scent greedily. Too bad about the smell of brimstone, but needs must when the devil drives. He smirks at the demoness. Soulless, merciless, and incredibly angry at his brother. Perfect!

He lets out a chuckle and rummages through the bar cabinets. _‘Oh, Sammy does stock vodka! Thank God._ ’ He salutes the ceiling with a feigned show of respect. Mazikeen seems wary of him, and she should be. Michael keeps his face carefully blank. No need to show his dominance just yet. He does show her his black wings despite having to suffer the discomfort of unfurling them. That seems to set her more at ease, he felt no need to find out how sharp those hell forced blades really are. Well, not now anyway. They speak about the devil and lo and behold, he does not appear. Too busy keeping up appearances it seems. Well, things are about to change, aren’t they? Michael stalks through the penthouse. No doors… hmmm figures. Mazikeen eyes him from the expensive leather sofa. He rolls his shoulders to alleviate the ache that settled in his bones during the day. Why she felt the need to slam him bodily into the wrecked piano was beyond him. He shrugs. Demons… 

“So you’re jealous.” There it is… The familiar and hideous truth. Michael turns to face her in tightly controlled fury.  
“No, I’m pissed!” he drawls out the words, glowering in her direction. The feeling of Creation keeps niggling at the back of his mind, though he pays it little mind. There’s a time and place for everything. Patience is a virtue he knew his brother lacked. One of many it seems. “Lucifer finally does what he's supposed to do without whining about it, and he gets praised? He rebelled against Dad. Almighty God, for God's sake. Since when do we congratulate a convict for serving a sentence? And if I know my eternally selfish brother, and I do, all this sacrifice and responsibility bullshit, it's just smoke and mirrors. I don't know who he's trying to fool, but I do know... that as soon as he hears someone is up here playing with his toys... maybe even breaking a few, then he will come flying right back up to reveal his true colours.”  
He drops into the fine leather armchair and stretches his arms with a smirk mimicking his brother’s accent. “Hello, Los Angeles.”

* * *

The meeting with Miss Mazikeen was a grand success if he said so himself. He struggles a bit with the buttons of his shirt but eventually manages to get the blasted thing off and drops it onto the massive bed occupying most of the bedroom. Michael lets out his wings, ripping out a few feathers absentmindedly as he browses the rest of the cabinets. Keeping them in all day was a pain in the ass and he preferred to keep his wings unfurled when alone. Michael pads around the apartment in just his black slacks and black wings, touching Samael’s stuff and resisting the urge to lick everything. His brother is still a neat freak it seems. It would bother Samael like nothing else, but who knows what goes on in here. He opens one of the drawers in the bedroom only to slam it shut with a curse. Damn Dad, he should have known better! He shakes his head, trying to force the visuals from his brain. The extensive library seems to be a safer bet. He finds plenty of manuscripts, handwritten and dedicated to his brother. Shakespeare, Geoffrey von Monmouth, Roger Bacon! He can barely keep himself from ripping them into ancient confetti. While he suffered, loss and pain in medieval Europe, Sam was fucking himself across the globe. Receiving gifts for escaping punishment! 

He viciously rips another book from its place, and he throws it onto the cluttered desk with a bang. It bounces once before falling open and something white flutters to the floor. Michael frowns and slowly approaches the book. It seems to be a 15th-century volume on the occult. The precious vellum is yellowed and brittle, the writing almost illegible in some places. Strange, it looks like Enochian, but the writing style is definitely human. He bends down to pick up a folded piece of paper. It’s surprisingly white, almost new, but the straight-edged impressions on the vellum tell him that it’s been in there for at least several centuries. Michael slowly turns it over and is shocked to see his own name written in Uriel’s narrow, highly stylized handwriting. Uriel… He sags bonelessly into the comfortable desk chair and stares at his own name. Uriel and his damned patterns. Couldn't he have foreseen his own end? Couldn't he have stopped it from happening, from leaving him behind like all the others? He drops his chin in his left hand in thought. His fingers play with the edge of the paper, bending it, but not quite folding it open.

Does he want to know what his little brother had seen for him? What prompted him to write to him in the first place? Had he foreseen his own end? He tosses the paper on top of the desk, glaring at it as if that would make it spill its secrets without having to face it. He grumbles and snatches the paper back. No time like the present… He takes a deep breath and folds it open.

_\- When darkness falls, beauty is lit from within. What was once black will know colour and the brightness will no longer be blind. May God’s help open your eyes. What has been bound by choice, will be freed by fate._

_Do not despair, my most beloved brother. My God has answered me, I know her light shines again. All will be well._

_PS Being Samael doesn't suit you brother. You never could pull it off. -_

Michael turns the paper over. There must be more! Just like his brother to send him a well-aimed barb from beyond non-existence. It fills him both with pain and joy. Even now, Uriel is still part of their lives in his own way. He wonders what the nothing is like. Michael angrily wipes away a tear and heads up to bed. Tomorrow will be another long day with his brother’s Miracle. He will make his Twin pay for what he has done. Even if it will be the last thing, he does. He leaves the patio doors open and turns down the lights. The sounds of the city help to remind him he's not in heaven. Help remind him to stay in his role. He doesn’t notice the breeze ruffling the old pages as if someone is leafing through them one by one. They settle on an illustration of a ring, the ring! After all, everything is in the patterns.

* * *

Michael struts into the penthouse, giddy with excitement. Things are going so well with Chloé. She was falling for his little scheme; hook line and sinker and he cannot keep the smirk from his face. Granted, having to use his Fear “Mojo” he scrunches up his face in disgust at the term, was a bit of a risk. But she told him, she actually told him she likes Lucifer 2.0. He hates to admit it, but it actually felt nice to hear her say that. It almost makes him want to surrender to the illusion that maybe he could become Lucifer. Maybe he should! Take what belongs to his brother, take what he's owed. He walks by the desk with a spring in his step when the manuscript catches his eye. Staring back at him from the yellowed page is an illustration of a ring. Lucifer’s ring! _‘How?’_ He eyes the copy he is wearing himself. Strange, the ring in the book is white. He leans over the desk, struggling a bit with the phonetic spelling of the language of angels. The pages are riddled with spelling errors and he’s even forced to sound out some of the words to make sense of them. But! The further he reads, the more wicked his smirk becomes. He slams the book closed and carefully places it back onto the shelf. The detective is far too perceptive for her own good. He will not let anyone ruin this. Seems like he’s finally going to get some answers, and he knows just the demon to get them for him.

* * *

She shot him! She fucking shot him! She shot him twice more than he had saved her, ungrateful bitch. It had hurt. Not the shooting part of course, but her rejection did sting. He scoffs. He fell for his own lie, what does that make him? At least the bullets hadn’t killed him. After Elaine’s death that had always been something he feared at the back of his own mind. They shot arrows at him and he bled, she shot him with bullets, and he didn’t? Michael shakes his head and stores away that information in his head. It might come in handy later. Raphael seemed to have developed a theory on vulnerability in light of Lucifer's death, whatever that means. He had to admit to not really understanding the inner workings of angels and it didn't matter anyway. For right at this moment, it looks like he has his invulnerability back and that makes taking risks a whole lot less, well, risky. He stalks the back streets of Los Angeles, looking for a place to stay for the night. He only has a little bit of cash left from Lucifer’s stash. Who doesn’t use a wallet! He glares at the pentagram shaped money clip. At least it was solid silver and would probably make his money last a little bit longer. He feels around in his pocket for anything else left of value and a crinkling noise hits his ears. When had he put Uriel’s message in his pocket? He scoffs. "You were right once again dear brother. I'm nothing like him. I'm better!"

Mazikeen is surprised to see Lucifer sitting in the dark in Chloé's apartment. She's even more surprised by the American sounding accent and the angry red knife wound across his face. Michael…   
“You were right." He smiles darkly, "I'm a liar, and Lucifer always tells the truth, doesn't he? Oh, yeah, except for when he leaves things out. Like the secret that he kept from Chloe and the one that he's keeping from you.”  
There we go; Perfect pitch, A+ for delivery, maybe throw in a bit more of that doe eyed look his Twin once perfected?  
“What secret?” Ah, he knew that would pique her interest.   
“Mm-mm. Nuh-uh. I can't tell you that.” He shakes his head in mock sympathy “You won't believe me... 'cause I'm a liar, right?” He leans forward on his elbows, the light catching in his dark eyes making them seem even darker. “But... I can tell you how to find it out for yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used the Voynich manuscript as the inspiration for Lucifer's mystery book. Google it and be amazed. It looks totally weird and completely normal at the same time. 
> 
> Does Uriel's message make sense to you?
> 
> Can we have a minute of silence for poor sweet Uriel too? I mean, when he told Lucifer: the piece is here, I knew he foresaw his own end. That's just sick. I firmly believe he wasn't evil, nor did he actually want to hurt somebody. He would have if Lucifer hadn't come to his senses and it probably would have fucked him up. Lucifer needs to learn hard lessons or he doesn't learn at all. He destroys more than he realizes. I'm thinking of adopting the poor angel.


	18. Let the Bodies Hit the Floor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so... eh... yeah... fuck.
> 
> If you want to kill me now, I'll just stand here and you can throw rocks at me.  
> Please, do try to aim for the head. It will be over quicker.
> 
> I did change the message a bit:  
> When darkness falls, beauty is lit from within. What was once black will know colour and the brightness will no longer be blind. May God’s help open your eyes. What has been bound by choice, will be freed by fate.  
> Do not despair, my most beloved brother. My God has answered me, I know her light shines again. All will be well.  
> PS Being Samael doesn't suit you brother. You never could pull it off. 
> 
> I also plugged a plothole about Brigid in chapter 11 and another one in the very first chapter

**Let the Bodies Hit the Floor**

_~ “Your lies are so tedious, Michael.”_  
 _“Not as tedious as your denial. 'Cause I'm not lying now, brother, and I think, deep down, you are realizing that. And once you realize that... you're gonna wonder... maybe it wasn't just the rebellion that was my suggestion._ _What else? What about your little sexcapade in the garden, or... Oh... your vacation here to Earth?”_  
 _“That's impossible.”_  
 _Michael hums, delighted with Sam’s reaction._  
 _“It was quite easy, actually. All it took was a little whisper here, a carefully orchestrated coincidence there, and your pathological self-absorption, of course. Voilà! All your idea.” The lies keep spilling from his mouth like golden honey and he relishes in it. Oh, how easily Samael’s walls come crashing down. His brother had changed, but he was no match for the one that knew him best._  
 _“Why?”_  
 _Michael moves through his words like the swordmaster he is. Feinting and sidestepping until he can finally drive the truth home.  
“Because, all our lives, you thought that you were better than me. The great Lucifer Morningstar, but you're not, are you? You're just Samael.”_  
 _“Stop calling me that.” Lucifer’s eyes spit fire._  
 _“All right. Why don't I call you what you know you really are?” Michael grins and moves in for the kill. “Unworthy.” ~_

The fight had both been glorious and dirty as Hell. Michael couldn't help but smile. Lucifer had thrown himself at Michael with a roar. They fought viciously and it felt good! Almost like old times even, when they fought amid stars and superheated clouds of gas and dust. He met his brother halfway, blocking his swings and kicks with attacks of his own. They were fairly evenly matched too. He could tell his brother wasn't holding back much and neither was he. Everything was going swimmingly right up until his right side gave in. He got slammed into the piano for a second time that week and he couldn't regain his footing. A kick to the head numbed his senses further and before he knew it, Sam cut up his face like a piece of prime beef.

The healing cut pulls on his face, making every expression seem even more twisted. He doesn't particularly mind it. This scar is there to stay and he will milk it for what it’s worth. Sometimes you need hard proof to show people what kind of asshole his brother is. Michael is wearing a turtleneck and tweed jacket that does nothing for his figure. It's too wide, even around the shoulders but it's comfy and that's what counts. It's what he had been able to scrounge up from the lockers at the abandoned zoo. So yeah, there's that too. Sleeping there hadn’t been kind on his back and shoulder though. The slant to his frame was even worse than normal, but all these little pains were minor inconveniences in comparison to the last time he fought his Twin. He grins. The fight did teach him something. Samael wasn’t as merciless as before, but still just as afraid of not being the author of his own fate as he was when he rebelled. He could work that angle. After all, Maze told him, the easiest way to spin his Twin out is to tap into his daddy issues and it seems she was telling the truth. 

Miss Mazikeen is the very reason why he finds himself sitting here, in some greasy diner near Reno at this time of day. He stares at a disgustingly loving couple outside without blinking. He narrows his eyes at the money that changes hands outside. Ah, Not so much a loving couple as World’s Oldest Profession then. _Humans..._ People tend to leave him alone and even the serving girl tries to stay away from him as far as humanly possible. He chuckles derisively. Despite their lack of faith, humans still have that same instinct that tells them he's a danger. That he's something Other. It’s that exact same instinct that had gotten his little family killed. He briefly considers calling her over for a refill, just to feel the fear emanating from the human, but his funds are getting dangerously low. It’s not really worth it. He glares at the simpering woman. How both his brothers could prefer humans over their own siblings will forever be beyond him. 

Instead, Michael taps Uriel's letter against the wooden tabletop in thought. If only he could figure out how his little brother’s cryptic message fits in. It almost feels like a prophecy and he detests those. Uriel obviously knew he was going to be on earth around now.  
Her name keeps popping up in his mind. Sounding out the syllables in Hebrew in a slowly repeating loop. Does this mean she is here? There was no record of her in Heaven and souls do not disappear just like that. He could try to contact Azrael, but she hadn’t reacted to his prayers in thousands of years. Why would she start now? Dad damn it, he would have to wait until his brother’s pattern started rolling and God knows how long that will take. Or maybe not... Uriel did like to play the long game, and Michael wasn’t so sure about his father's omniscience anymore. He's been away for too long, and too much happened. He would have to up his game. Make sure his father would not be able to ignore them any longer. Now he only needs to figure out how. 

“Weeellll...” Michael stretches lazily in his booth, unsubtly reminding the anxious waitress that yes, he is indeed still here. “Look at the time.” Mazikeen must surely be done with her motherly heart to heart by now? He throws down some cash on the table to pay for his coffee, forgoing the tip of course. Despite the slogan on the building outside, he had not felt “Right at Home”. He had followed Maze to an old apartment building and left her to do her own thing, he could always come back later. He knew the story of the ring would tempt her to find her mother and what use is a demon if they cannot find a soul. He wonders what she looks like now. Will she still be that same dark beauty he found outside Eden? Darkness has fallen over the human world, but Reno is still brightly lit and busy. Michael unfurls his dark wings, and he hops onto the roof of the dilapidated diner. His face is lit by neon light, while the black feathers of his wings absorb all light. Today he will find answers and he will start with the First Wife.

* * *

Seems like he just missed Mazikeen. Talk about great timing. He steps into Lilith’s apartment through the window, and furls his wings with a whoosh. Michael makes himself at home in the darkest corner of the room. Out of sight, but not out of mind. He catches the last snippets of their conversation and he smiles. So, the demoness isn’t as tough-skinned as she lets everyone believe. He knows his brother treated her badly and he almost feels bad for her. He knows the appeal of following Samael. Darkness is attracted to the light, despite the burn, despite him always leaving you behind. Sam’s like walking heroin. It never ends well. Michael steeples his fingers and waits for Lilith to make an appearance. His eyes glow in the growing darkness around him. 

Lilith jumps in fright when she spots him, lurking in the corner. “Lucifer!” She scolds him “What are you doing here?” She shuffles closer, peering at him through her glasses. Her elderly body is slow in its movements, and slow on the uptake too it seems.  
“Not quite.” he drawls lazily and Lilith gasps  
“Michael.”  
“Bingo! Got it in two... You should enter one of your game shows. Maybe win that fantastic vacation right in the heart of an island volcano.” To his surprise, Lilith laughs.   
“That damned devil never could keep his mouth shut.” She gingerly sits down into an ugly beige armchair. “Oof” she complains when her hip pops loudly in the silence.

Michael just stares at her. He had not expected the elderly woman to sit in front of him like she hadn’t a care in the world. What happened to her? He thinks back on the ring currently in his brother’s possession. According to the book, it made her immortal, but the story Lucifer told the child was different. So how did she stay immortal then? Adam and Eve died. As a human, even Lilith should not be exempt from their curse. Unable to stay still any longer, he gets up and wanders through the room. He studies the poster of Lily-Rose, a stage name, no doubt. _‘1946’_ She looked just as young as he remembered her. He hums and moves on. He detects no fear from her. Not of him anyway. Time to change that. 

“So, tell me.” He turns to her, waving vaguely at the poster. “How did you do it?”  
“Straight to the point then eh? So, unlike your brother. _He knows_ how to woo a woman.” Lilith smiles at the memory and it takes all his self-control not to slap it from her face.  
“Just answer the question, woman.” Lilith looks him over, from his crooked stance to the way he holds his right arm and the slope in his shoulders. She smirks darkly and he is suddenly reminded of Mazikeen. Like mother, like daughter.  
“You really don’t know do you?” She leans forward and puts her chin on her hands. “It was you, who made that possible.”

Michael looks at her, shocked. “Me?” He gasps out a breathy laugh. He had been prepared for a number of imaginative lies, but this one takes the cake. “I… You’re joking.” He laughs again, slightly shaky, but Lilith isn’t laughing. She is regarding him silently. “Seriously now.” Michael tries to wrestle back control over the situation. He leans forward and puts his hands on the arms of her chair, looming over her threateningly. “How?”

“Oh, my dear, dear boy” Lilith smiles at him and she pats his cheek lovingly. “You are still as blind as you were back then. Still as pretty too.” She drinks in his beautiful face with her eyes and sighs. “Still as dark.” She regrets it now, giving up her immortality. To be able to play with the dark angel once again. Oh… it makes her old bones tingle. “So lonely... You gave it to me.” Michael’s eyes widen.   
“What? When?!” Lilith plays with his dark curls, wishing she could run her fingers through black feathers instead.  
“For an angel who hates humans, you sure didn’t waste any time laying with one did you?” Michael rips his head from her bent fingers and retreats back to the far wall. “You liked sticking it to your brother? Sully your father’s humans with your seed, with your Creation?” He is gaping like a fish, struggling to get any words out. He’s grasping at straws and he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Samael was the one that laid with you, woman!” Not I.”  
“A great lie to be sure Michael, but you and I both know better don’t we.” She giggles in delight. “You fell, and you didn’t even realise it.”  
Michael darts forward in fury and that’s when he feels the first tingle of fear emanating from the woman before him.  
 ** _“_ _I did not fall!_ _”_** He enunciates every word clearly through gritted teeth. Lilith takes his face in both hands now, rubbing his cheeks with her thumbs.  
“You did, my lovely.” She looks into his eyes searchingly. “Surely you must have recognized the spark that made my Mazikeen possible?” He had. He had ignored it, but he had. “Infernal virgin birth.” Lilith continues with a sparkle in her eyes. “Sounds delightful, doesn’t it?”  
“I never did such a thing.” He growls the words into her face, trying to drown out all the memories of his time on earth. How he had felt his power draining and how he never made the choice to find out what caused it. He never was brave enough to face what he had done. _‘I did not fall.’_

“Ah, but Michael.” She drives home the truth without mercy. “ _You_ chose to lay with me, you _chose_ to connect on a level you _knew_ was forbidden.” Every word hits him like a hammer’s blow. “You chose to ignore it, allowed the connection to remain, to drown yourself in _sin_ instead.” He gasps and Lilith laughs in his face. All the pain comes rushing back. His growing corruption, the loneliness, the addiction he still struggles with even today. _‘I didn’t, I didn’t fall.’_

“You made Hell’s armies possible. Soulless, merciless demons born from myself and Creation. My perfect children. And all for your brother.”   
“What was in the ring if not your immortality?!” he tries again, knowing she wouldn’t try and obfuscate if she didn’t have something to hide.  
“Why, their souls of course. Bound by your Grace so freely given and kept safe by your brighter half.” Michael’s throat closes up. _‘No.’_ He remembers the smell of brimstone on the priest, the strange lack of soul he felt from the human when he died.

“It was you! You took my daughter... Why!” His eyes flash gold and Lilith’s fear grows exponentially. “Her soul is in there, isn’t it!” He grabs her hands and crushes them against the armrests. “Does he know?” Michael’s eyes grow blacker than black, stoking the flames of her fear. Lilith gasps, her heart is racing, and she cannot look away. This close, you cannot deny that the being before her is not human. “Does Samael know?!” he roars.  
“No…” Her voice is but the barest whisper, but he doesn’t hear her through the rushing of his blood in his ears. He ramps up the fear, looking into her eyes as the shadows around them grow and swallow them whole. His ragged black wings unfurl, mantling around them, smothering every last bit of light. She doesn’t scream, she doesn’t fight. Her heart gives out with a single stutter and it is all over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, will Michael kill two birds with one stone when his sister finally turns up?


End file.
